namu_chewy

“Enter.”

The door opened and in stepped Lieutenant Groves. It was another hot day, and a subtle wave of warmth wafted straight in through the gap. White light glared angrily through the windows, boring between his shoulder blades and making him sweat. James ignored it and pushed the pile of paperwork aside, clasping his hands together before him. The door was shut again, returning the room to silence. Something wasn’t quite right; James could see it in the way he lingered at the door, could read it in the man’s face as he turned around slowly. His brow was dark, and his eyes were red. James frowned, hoping it wasn’t a bereavement.

“Commodore,” he nodded solemnly, and James gestured towards the chair. His voice sounded much too tired for so early an hour.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Groves…” he said, and saw the way that brown gaze averted to avoid his scrutiny. Theo mumbled a response and lowered himself into the chair; James knew he didn’t mean to be rude. For the time he had served under his command, Theo had always performed well as a lieutenant. James found him reliable during a heated situation, and liked how the man could still see through it all with a grim smile on his face. James was glad his own  days as lieutenant were long over. Only his seniors would really remember those few, rare seconds when James Norrington wasn’t James Norrington, but a wretched thing of fear. He still remembered something his captain at the time had said to him; “I do wish you wouldn’t laugh so much…it makes me feel rather uncomfortable.” Ever since that comment he had to reinforce and build upon that steely control of his. Experience taught him to keep his weaknesses under control, and that mania brimming under the surface as the ship shook with the cannons and men fell back as though they would never stop doing so. But even during his first days as Captain, pressure sometimes brought it back; he supposed it had been a rather ghastly sound, which no doubt made those around him feel uncomfortable; he cringed to remember it now, for it had seemed to border so dangerously close to hysteria. Somehow it was always Andrew who brought him round with the clearing of his throat, or a brief and quiet utterance. He would nod and smile that awkwardly reassuring smile of his, their fears all part of the bigger, uglier whole.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” said Theo. James cleared his throat softly, returning to the matter at hand. He had to ask, however, before he continued with the proposition. Personal issues were not usually his concern, but the welfare of his officers was, especially that of a man he was about to send out on a lengthy voyage.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Groves?”

“No, sir,” Theo straightened his back.

“I am about to ask you to embark on a month long journey,” James glanced up from his hands, and was a little surprised to see the other breaking into a slow smile.

“…I take it from your reaction that you have no objections?”

Theo shook his head quickly and opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated.

“Four weeks is quite a length of time…” said James as he watched the change of expression closely; the crease in Theo’s brow had smoothed away, and already his eyes were looking more lively.

"I feel more than ready for the assignment, sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Groves. I shall take your word for it,” James grinned and tapped his clasped hands against the desk. “You shall be escorting the honourable Lady Bertram from England to these shores. I am putting you in charge of the Unicorn-”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I understand you are familiar with her.”

“Yes, sir,” Theo’s smile deepened, and James chuckled, unclasping his hands to twiddle the quill laying upon his desk.

“I’m curious, Mr. Groves, so I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“You seem rather eager to be leaving port,” he said, watching Theo’s face as it coloured ever so slightly. “Which is perfectly understandable. I only hope it is not because you are eager to be leaving something behind in particular…”

"I am not fleeing from debt or anything like that, if that is what you mean, sir," Theo’s dark eyebrows lofted.
 
“Indeed. For I haven't seen many men getting so upset because they owed somebody money…” James smiled, and so did Theo, though his face looked rather flushed.

“...there are far worser things capable of harassing one’s mind than…matters of a material nature, sir...namely those frivolous problems of the hear-” the lieutenant caught himself before he could ramble on, but James’s smile had turned into one of sympathy.

“I suppose we are all constantly running away from something in life…“ he glanced down at the quill between his hands. “Fleeing to sea in the attempt to avoid those…more unruly emotions…would probably come like second nature to men such as ourselves…”

He looked up to find Theo nodding in agreement.

“You have been my lieutenant for a while now Mr Groves, and I have barely spared much time for you as a friend...” he said quietly, and brown eyes widened as those dark eyebrows peaked with mild surprise.

“Not at all, sir,” he said hurriedly, and James wondered whether he should have spoken so casually. As of late he had been craving for companionship, ever since Andrew had left. Now he was to send away another of his friends, though he supposed his own cool regard and professional distancing may have kept others from noticing how much he truly valued those loyal figures at his side, striving with him to keep things in control. He admired certain aspects of Theo’s character, though the man probably didn’t consider him as a friend, as such. James had never been engaged in any lengthy and in-depth conversation with him. Neither was he any good at sharing banter, but that of course was not expected of a commanding officer. Though he had seen his best lieutenant off with perfect composure, perhaps regret now made him want to do it differently this time round.

“Whatever that may be troubling you…if it isn’t something which can be solved practically…I hope that you shall find some peace of mind, if not any immediate answers upon your voyage,” he said, then added with a small smile, “it is the Governor’s personal request that I impress Lady Bertram, and I’m afraid I can’t do that if the man in charge is looking as miserable as he had done walking through that door.”

Theo puffed up his chest and touched his hat.

“You may count on me, sir.”

“Good. I’m sure I’ll have nothing to worry about if you receive the good lady with the same dashing merriment you are currently exhibiting,” James grinned, and saw the lieutenant fighting a smile.

~+~

James both liked and disliked the afternoon. He liked it because it marked that time of the day when one could sneakily retrieve a bottle and glass from the bottom drawer of his work desk. He disliked it because despite cradling the finest glass of claret in his hands, it did not stop his wig from itching, nor the room from growing gradually hotter and hotter as the sun carried on pulsing out waves of heat in that perfectly clear sky. Tugging at his cravat, he left his chair to open up the windows, humming to himself when someone knocked upon the door.

“Enter,” he called as he fumbled with the latch on the last window. The door opened, and he heard someone stepping halfway in.

“Sir-”

“Just in time. I can’t seem to get this-”

“Miss Swann is here to see you, sir.”

James stopped struggling and turned from the window. Elizabeth was stood in her bonnet and her best whites; he remembered the dress from one of the earliest days he had started visiting the Swann household. It seemed a little odd to see her wearing it now. In the blaze of the afternoon, Elizabeth stood there like a vision.

“Thank you, Watson, you may leave us now,” said James, and the man nodded then retreated out of the room, shutting the door. As soon as he did, Elizabeth stopped wringing her hands and jerked at the ribbons of her bonnet.

“I apologise for intruding upon-” she began hastily as she set the bonnet down upon his desk, and noticed his large bottle of claret.

“Not at all,” James cut in as he strode towards her. “Is something wrong…?”

Up close, he could see how flushed her face was. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he reached over to pour her a glass. He handed her the claret and she took it gratefully before downing a rather large amount. She caught his eye and he looked away, clearing his throat as she sighed and touched the corners of her mouth with a gloved hand; James wondered how women could stand the heat in all their accessories. His wig itched, and he refrained from scratching in front of Elizabeth.

“You are not in trouble, I hope?” he took the glass gently from her.

“No,” she said curtly, then stopped. James waited, but she only dithered on the spot, looking ready to faint. He was about to ask her to sit when her hand shot out to the desk.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, and he saw her fingers folding into a fist across his paperwork, the tensing of her jaw as she turned her face to the side.

“I don’t understand,” James frowned. “Is someone threatening you?”

“It’s nothing like that,” she shook her head impatiently, then glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. “To be honest…you’re probably the last person I should be seeing, but I…”

James sighed inwardly and took her arm, guiding her into the chair despite her resistance.

“You must tell me what the matter is before I can help you-” he paused when he saw her raise a hand to her brow. “If that is indeed what you want.” He heard a sigh, then the small rustle as she withdrew something from the folds of her skirts. James looked down at the scrap of paper held up to him.

“I woke up this morning and found this…” she looked at him, and he took the bit of parchment, unfolding it slowly to find a few haphazard lines scrawled by somebody in a rush.

“Dear Elizabeth,” he read, glancing back at her before turning to the words again, “forgive me for leaving, but Jack-” He paused at the name and saw Elizabeth closing her eyes in exasperation. “But Jack and I have something to settle…” James continued solemnly, “I shall be back soon, and promise to explain it all then. Keep this to yourself and remember that I love you. Will.”

“You must think Will is as bad as Jack," said Elizabeth, glancing at him. "For agreeing to go off with him again..."

"If that is indeed the meaning behind this business to be settled...Jack's gaining a new crew member," James folded the parchment and returned it to her before clasping his hands behind his back. He turned his face to frown at the hovering speck of a gull beyond the nearest window; was fate about to answer his request of action? He had no problem with chasing down an old rogue and threat of the sea, and he would have no issue with throwing into the brig all those who chose to assist him on his wayward plans. If these men were to raise havoc upon important trading lines by threatening and attacking unsuspecting vessels, his job remained to rein them in as soon as possible. But what on earth was he supposed to do with this? A flimsy note, written by a blacksmith with a history of working alongside Sparrow in the attempt to outwit the worst possible scoundrel of the seven seas. So it wasn’t Elizabeth who was in danger, but Will. Only what was the plan now? The object of the first ordeal had been Elizabeth. What was Sparrow using to entice the other upon another ill-thought-out, swash-buckling adventure this time?

“I know that there isn’t much to go by in the note,” said Elizabeth. James noticed her voice was strained, and turned to look at her. There was an angry glint in her eyes, but it didn’t seem to be directed at him; she kept looking out of the window as much as he did.

“But I wish to make a request, nonetheless…”

James exhaled deeply, and Elizabeth continued before he could object.

“I only ask,” she said, eyes on him, then added afterwards, “James…”

He looked into her face, at that serious dark gaze.

“That you don’t attack the Pearl-”

“Elizabeth, you know very well that is not a sensible request-”

“James-”

“Sparrow and his crew remain criminals despite what may have happened in the past, and you cannot ask me to willingly allow him to carry on his pillaging-”

“You let him go once, James-”

He opened his mouth, but she carried on.

“Don’t tell me it was a mistake because you know it wasn’t-”

“I can tell you now, Elizabeth, in all honesty,” he strode back towards the window uncomfortably. “I had decided against chasing after Sparrow because of the good he somehow managed to do…some may suspect that it was unintentional, and many of my own men questioned why I let him go at the time, but you know I am not the stubborn, inflexible figure of authority you may have once believed me to be…and I know a good man even though I may not admit to it.” He looked back and recognised the familiar impatience dawning upon those beautiful features.

“Your note from Will is not enough to make me send my men out on a frivolous hunt for the Pearl,” he said quietly. “But if she is caught doing anything out of line, I cannot prevent my men from doing what they must do-”

“I understand, but-”

“Whatever Sparrow is plotting, it could be something potentially dangerous and I cannot allow that to continue if I have the means to put a stop to it-”

“If…he is plotting something dangerous…but promise me that you will not open fire on the Pearl unless you can be sure that he is,” she said, standing up and sweeping over to him.

“You ask for far too much-” he looked away again.

“Please, James,” he felt her hand on his arm. “The Pearl is not the only threat out there. I only ask that you let it be, unless-”

“If we could always know exactly when disaster will strike, our lives would be so much easier,” he put his hand over hers. “But as life is not so predictable, I cannot ask my men to hold fire, and I cannot understand, Elizabeth, why you are making such a request of me. You know very well that pirates cannot be trusted-”

“I trust Will,” she said, pulling her hand away. “And I won’t have him hurt.” James sighed inwardly and paced slowly back to his desk.

“There are many things which are beyond our control, Elizabeth,” he said, lowering himself into his chair. “I shan’t mention the note again, but your request shall not be met.” He clasped his hands together upon the desk, meeting her gaze. “It’s not a question of ascent, but that of judgement. If the Pearl attacked, I will not have my men playing sitting ducks. You understand that it is a matter of duty, nothing more and nothing less.” He stopped and watched her in silence. A long moment passed as she stared out of the window behind him; James could imagine her scouting day and night for the ship with the black sails. As the seconds passed the passion faded from her eyes, and for the first ever time James saw something akin to true helplessness.

“I’m sorry…” her voice was quiet, and she looked at him at last, but couldn’t hold the gaze long enough. “…you must think I am such a fool…coming here and asking such ridiculous-”

“Elizabeth, I know you must be feeling very frustrated just now-” James interrupted gently, but she shook her head.

“No, James, you don’t-” she let out a sigh and reached for her bonnet, eyes on the ribbons, but she wasn’t really looking. “…I’m angry at him for not telling me…” her voice grew quiet, and James strained his ears to listen. “…why he thought I wouldn’t understand, as though he thought I would…try to stop him…”

“And you would’ve gone with him, if he had asked,” James said quietly, and sure enough that chin lifted.

“I don’t know what you mean, James.”

“Forget it. Despite it all,” he heaved a sigh, tired of having his foot caught in a web of other people’s affairs. “He said he shall return…I’m sure he just wanted to keep you out of any unpleasant entanglements…” he saw the impatience slipping back into her eyes, and finished off briskly. “Will just wants you to be safe, Elizabeth. I’m sure if I were away on some…obligatory mission, I would try to be done with it as soon as possible, knowing I have someone waiting for me back home.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, James, but you don’t have to speak kindly for him…it doesn’t console me in the least,” said Elizabeth as she put on her bonnet and started fastening the ribbons beneath her chin. “I don’t even know where he’s gone...” her voice was quiet again, unsure. Her manner remained haughty despite his efforts, and if James was reading correctly, the whole conversation was a blow to her pride; she had once managed to escape from the Dauntless unnoticed, taking matters into her own hands when all the men couldn’t help her. She had been through the trials of abduction, and her eyes were the first to see what still made men quiver in those darker hours of sleep. Of course it was infuriating being in her situation now, unable to act without asking some higher, male power first in order to obtain the means which enabled men to do what they did. She was brave but hasty, and for a second James even suspected that she would make a capable accomplice to Sparrow and his crew.

“You said that you trusted him.”

“I do.”

“Then he’ll be back.”

Elizabeth said nothing else. James watched her steadily; where would she go now? Somehow he didn’t think she would be returning to the silent comfort of her home. What balm could soothe the agitation of a restless mind, of someone who had been given the taste of action and yet who was now supposed to settle back in with marriage and family values. To sit and wait. What was she going to do with a young man who perhaps only just realised where he truly belonged, whether or not that was the right place? No, he shouldn’t doubt Turner, not when the man had proven them all wrong once already. Elizabeth retrieved a fan, and James was wary again; what if she fainted on her way to the carriage? He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he didn’t like the thought of leaving her.

“Perhaps you would care to join me on a walk,” he said, rising from the desk. As he shrugged back into his coat, he sighed inwardly at the thought of stepping out into the heat again; his shirt still felt faintly damp at his chest and between his shoulder blades. Elizabeth remained quiet as he donned his hat and came out from behind his desk; the room filled with the sound of her fan flicking back and forth like the restless flapping of a bird.

“Elizabeth,” he said at the door, and opened it as she finally moved from the spot to follow him.

~+~

The air outside proved to be no better than that inside of his office. Within ten steps James could feel the first trickle running down his nape. Elizabeth had paused to lean against a column.

“Perhaps we should go back,” he said, looking back at her and refraining to bridge that gap between them lest the offer of help offended her.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, wafting the fan before her face as she turned her eyes upon the sea below. “It’s just so…”

“Hot, I know…even in the shade…” his eyes fell upon the streaks of light slipping in through the cracks in the brickwork above. His mind was on the previous night, and the figure of Turner slipping in and out of shadow. If Elizabeth only found the note today, Will must have been meeting Sparrow when James had seen him. He wondered if Elizabeth had been with Will last night. Even if she knew he had only just left, James supposed she didn’t ask outright that they followed Will, partly because on paper it could only amount to a wild goose chase. The other part was a messy problem of self will and vagueness of evidence; how could he tell it was really Will who wrote that note, for instance? Rescue missions were rare, and theirs had been permitted only because Elizabeth had been the Governor’s daughter. Nobody but themselves cared about the disappearance of a blacksmith, who as far as they knew, could have joined a life of crime for good this time round. And if it really was his own choice, nothing more could be said.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you at this moment, Elizabeth,” he turned and squinted at her. “I shall send word out for the scouts to stay alert and to inform me if they catch sight of her…but until we hear back from them, it is very much a waiting game.”

Elizabeth turned her face towards the sea, and James walked slowly up to her, eyes following in her line of sight; from here they could see the brigs sailing out after a speedy recovery. He had looked upon them earlier, impressed by the quality of workmanship gone into the repairs. Without a glass, they were twin specks bobbing out in the wide, open blue. The sight eased him, for it told of continuity. Glancing aside he caught the tell-tale frown. The air finally lifted with the smallest breeze, stirring the finer wisps of dark brown hair against the sharp contours of Elizabeth’s face.

“I know I am not the most patient of people…” she said without looking at him. “And I can openly say that I often wish I was a man, so I could do more instead of just…”

“One doesn’t have to be a man to be capable of good judgement,” said James. “I was wrong about Sparrow, as well as Will.” She turned her eyes on him. “But sometimes one is prone to prejudice if that is part of what they have always known…”

“I know. I have my own faults in that myself…and I just want to say that I’m grateful for your help,” she attempted a smile, “even if you’re not giving me a ship to command.”

“I’m afraid that is very much out of the question,” he returned the smile faintly.

She turned her attention back on the disappearing brigs.

“I thought so.”

~+~

Andrew had to ask his senior lieutenant to repeat what he had said. Live fire practice was almost unheard of; it had never been done upon the ships he had served, anyway. The Dauntless had her fill of practice runs, but there was no such thing as additional powder; it was enough for the men to focus solely on the effective handling and manoeuvring of the guns, which took long enough to master in itself. Besides, nobody ever wanted to waste what would be a potential shot against a real enemy. He was told by Lieutenant Fry, however, that Captain Hunt always purchased extra powder from his personal funds; something to do with prize money apparently.

“Again!” Andrew shouted and the sound of feet scrambling against the deck broke out once more as the men heaved at the guns. The rain had come back with a vengeance, and he turned from where he stood with the gun crew upon main deck, looking back at the older lieutenant with a raised eyebrow, which the other man returned as though to say “You didn’t really believe it would stop, did you?” Glancing over onto starboard, Andrew saw Lieutenant Wilson watching him with a grim expression on his face; his hat was dripping rainwater and something in his eyes reminded him of a scolded child. Perhaps he was too fond of leading the drill to have someone else taking it over. When Andrew turned his eyes back on the gun crew, a multitude of hands were just finishing their ramming with the swabs as the boys came darting back up with the new charges. In they went, followed by the fresh shots, and the men were waiting on his word again, their eyes on the bobbing practice target they had put together and cast out somewhat haphazardly; each man was so keen to assemble into their teams around each gun that it seemed not to matter so much what they shot at, so long as they did it in good time. When he gave the word they fired in an almost perfectly timed crash, and the men kept fast at the tackles, each knowing precisely what was expected of him. Rain water dripped into their eyes, but most didn’t even blink. Andrew breathed in the smell of smoke as it drifted across the deck, glancing again at Lieutenant Fry, stood with his hands clasped behind his back at the quarter deck rail, and now looking as though he wanted to say, “I told you we were good” with the faintest lift to the corner of his mouth.

~+~

James closed his eyes and slipped smoothly beneath the water’s surface. His ears filled with the enveloping thrum, and in his mind he saw him leaning against the doorway, arms folded, an off-kilter smile on his face. It was a game of hide and go-seek. Andrew was pacing slowly into the room now, his steps careful and silent. And right at the last minute James would spring up and grab him, playing the same trick on him as he had done on his maid when he was a boy; Andrew of course always knew exactly where he would be hiding. James fancied he could hear him laughing now, as he attempted to drag him down into the water. But something he didn’t see before would suddenly become all too clear as he looked up into Andrew’s face, at the dry parted lips. “I have you now,” James would whisper. He could imagine feeling his weight, the tub not enough for the both of them. Andrew’s smile would grow strained, and James would look down at the bath water as it turned colour from some ghastly wound. A grisly dark hole which saw light, perhaps. Something small but fatal, hidden beneath the folds of his shirt. Or the opposite. Something you could not miss, could not deny; endless possibilities flitted through his mind in terrible colours of carnage. Though his lungs burned for air, he sat up slowly in the tub, folding his arms upon his knees and resting his chin upon cold, damp skin. He listened to the fireplace and watched the open doorway with a foolish, child-like expectancy, murmuring words of hope silently in his head. Maria eventually passed by. She hesitated at the door for a moment when she saw him, then uttered an apology and carried on again in a hurry, embarrassed by the sight.

~+~

Andrew swivelled the spoon around in his bowl and folded his arms upon the table, watching Mr. Phillips close the door of his cabin behind him. Harris sat across him at the table, his eyes on the cards he was shuffling between his hands as Lieutenant Fry wolfed down another portion of stew; it must have been the officers’ favourite dish. It was just the three of them in the wardroom, the rest having retreated to the only morsels of space on the ship which allowed them to sigh or brood all they liked without being questioned for it; Lieutenant Wilson had been the first to retire, taking his ill temper with him into his cabin. During the gun drill Wilson had struck one of the lads for slipping on the deck and losing his charge. Andrew passed a comment on how he considered it unnecessary to use such force, considering the weather had been poor and it wasn’t as though the boy did it on purpose. Wilson’s response had been to use the name of discipline as a sure-sign of reducing mistakes. “He shall take more care next time,” he’d said, but Andrew was sceptical. The lieutenant seemed to think he was interfering with the system, though personally Andrew was not so sure about Wilson’s interpretation of it; a system which did not believe in accidents seemed like a strained one to him. How much of it was the Captain’s way, and that of the lieutenant taking his frustrations out on the lad? Andrew knew Wilson felt threatened by his presence, but could not understand why the man could not just relax; he had never challenged him openly, unless he considered today’s comment a personal jibe. Grudges were a curse, through and through.

“So who is the queen of hearts?”

Lieutenant Fry stopped eating and looked at him as though he had asked the most peculiar question; and he supposed it did sound a little strange, though they had Harris to blame for rousing his curiosity in the first place.

“Where, is more like it,” said Harris, tapping the cards on the tablecloth impatiently.

Somehow Andrew believed the marine officer was not talking about an incomplete deck.

“Yes, well,” murmured Fry as he set down his spoon with a clatter and picked at something in his teeth with his tongue. Andrew tapped the table lightly and the nearby steward refilled his glass. He saw Harris dismiss the lad with a glance, and they settled back in their chairs, waiting for Fry to finish his sip of wine.

“Married, most likely,” he finished at last, raising a scarred hand to itch at his wig.

Harris snorted, and Andrew leant forwards on his arms.

“So we are talking about a lost love?” he asked, lofting his brows at both men.

“O yes,” said Fry as he leant across to pluck the deck of cards from Harris’s hands. “We all thought she was bloody marvellous, didn’t we Harris.”

The youthful officer gave a shrug at him, then turned his sceptical brown eyes onto Andrew.

“I wouldn’t quite phrase it that way myself.”

Andrew laughed and touched the base of his glass.

“And I always thought it was bad luck to have women aboard…”

“On the contrary, we all thought she was something of a blessing,” said Fry as he dealt out the cards.

“Romantic nonsense if you ask me,” retorted Harris as he picked up his cards one by one before the other had finished dealing. Andrew saw the smile on Fry’s lips and felt himself growing more intrigued by the passing moment. “Numbers won us the Confiant, and if the French had managed to squeeze themselves out of that one, I would’ve eaten my own hat.”

“I don’t think they thought it worthwhile to even try, Mr. Harris…not the most comfortable of situations, being caught between two enemy ships…”

“So this lady that you speak of, she was onboard during the battle?” asked Andrew as he picked up his cards.

“We didn’t hear a peep from her again until it was all over. Apparently the good Lady was praying for us in the Captain’s cabin,” muttered Harris as he frowned at his hand. “You must deal the next round, Mr. Gillette. Somehow I always manage to end up with the worst possible hands when-”

One of the cabin doors opened and they settled down into to a quiet murmur, with Harris grumbling over his ill luck, and Fry waving the other off with another dry witticism or two. Andrew won three games out of five, and both men called it beginner’s luck despite the fact that he’d played it for years. They didn’t return to the conversation, but Andrew made a guess at who the king of hearts was.

~+~

Andrew laid in the dark, listening to each creak of the woodwork as the Adamant crashed on through the night’s wilder waves. Above his head he could hear the constant sound of men’s feet thudding around upon the deck, and for a sickening moment he thought of the Dauntless, of being with James in the great cabin, of their careful, and sometimes less careful scuffles behind the doors, which in themselves were mere panels designed for an easy manoeuvre during battle. In the fever of the moment there would always be something left out of one’s calculations. People who feared for their privacy often kept in mind the thickness of certain walls. Did anyone ever pick up on the strange pattern of their shoes dragging against the rug in James’s cabin? Did they ever watch up at the deck like he was doing now, and recognise that awful rhythm which did not belong to the ship nor the sea which surrounded them for miles on end? A cold sweat crept itself slowly over him as his thoughts continued; his own fears twisted certain memories until he was almost sure that some officer or another had looked at him funny at some point. He tossed violently onto his other side and stared into the dark, willing himself to dispense with such bouts of paranoia; the Dauntless was a large ship. A ship of the line, with hundreds of souls onboard. Such a number of people kept between the decks a constant hum of noise; what was a strangled gasp amongst it all?

“Fool,” he berated himself. "If anyone had suspected you wouldn't still be here. Sleep.”

But he couldn’t sleep. A moment ago he had been dreaming. He saw James holding someone that wasn’t himself, and he was stood watching them, angry at himself for not saying anything because he had agreed to it. He had the same dream the night before, and had hoped that the hours spent pacing backwards and forwards giving orders and even commanding a gun drill would tire him enough to secure a thoughtless rest in some peaceful oblivion. Lieutenant Fry had seen through him since day one despite his denial; whatever romantic story had taken place in the past aboard the ship, deep down Andrew was secretly pining over his own. Pushing aside the sheet, he climbed out of his cot gingerly, hands bracing against the panelling to either side of him which served as thin substitutes for walls dividing him from the other officers. The ship rolled sharply over a large cresting wave, and he almost lost his footing for a second. He bent down towards his chest and opened it with one hand as he steadied himself against the cot with another. Rooting to the bottom, he grasped what he hoped was the item he sought, and tugged it out of the chest. Rolling back into the cot, he pressed the scrunched-up linen to his face, caught what still lingered of his scent, and closed his eyes.
 

The carriage bounced along so hard that James suspected the driver had taken one drink too many for the road. Leaning down, he peered out of the window and saw the Swann household drawing near. It was a dark evening, but the sky was brilliantly clear and the stars were visible in their far-stretching clusters above. He wondered how the night fell for those aboard the Adamant. Once more the governor had asked him to dine with them, but after the previous talk in his office James wondered whether Weatherby would choose to mention those personal affairs he had hinted of earlier in his confidence. The man chose to confide in him, but James would have liked to remain untangled within another’s family affairs. The reality was that he had so lost touch with his own, that he felt foolish at times, out of place in fact, whenever he became immersed within the domestic sphere. He wished he could relax more, and participate in the homeliness without constantly stepping back to observe. This inwardly detached attitude often made him feel slightly nervous whenever he speculated on the chances of becoming caught in some embarrassing conflict breaking out between father and daughter. If anything were to start, he just hoped he would have the chance to inform Weatherby first on his decision to assign Lieutenant Groves with the task of receiving the honourable Lady Bertram and her son. The carriage jolted violently, throwing him forward and out of his seat. After a small stumble followed by a hastey scramble to his feet, James adjusted the hat on his head and opened the carriage door, stepping out before the driver had made a full stop; when it came to ill services, James was not the sort to be afraid to speak out against them.

~+~

The footman took his coat, his face devoid of expression as usual; Winston did not believe in smiling it seemed, not even at the more familiar of guests. James took a quick glance around the foyer, thought briefly about those awkward moments he'd spent staring at a painting or a crack in the floor because it proved easier than meeting that impatient look on Elizabeth’s face. Making his way quietly down the hallway towards the great room, he picked up on the aggitated sound of conversation. The voices were unmistakable, propelling him back instantly to another year, another time, when he was doing the very same thing and eavesdropping to words spoken in a similar manner. He slowed down upon approaching the doorway, and could hear Elizabeth responding to something her father had said; her voice seemed restrained, uncomfortable, and it made James feel the same for suspecting he was the cause of her unrest. Some things never changed.

"But still I think it would be awkward-”

“Nonsense Elizabeth, I’m sure in time they will get to know each other better.”

“Could you make light conversation with a man who tried to arrest you?”

“Well I doubt it would be exactly easy exchanging pleasantries with a pirate's accomplice-”

“Father!”

James stopped his loathed loitering at the doorway and strode in briskly, pretending he had just arrived. Elizabeth was sat in the couch opposite her father, and they both stood up immediately upon seeing him.

“Ah, commodore!” greeted the governor with a smile. "How typical of you to keep us waiting!" James apologised almost on cue, and returned the smile as he greeted them, though his eyes were on Elizabeth.

"Commodore," she replied in turn, and offered one of her own well-practiced grins. For a second James thought the three of them were standing like a trio of fools. Weatherby was a fool for pretending everything would be grand whilst he continued inviting the rejected suitor over infront of his daughter and chosen lover. Elizabeth was a fool for believing James too ignorant or selfish not to understand her pained response to her father's actions, and James himself was a fool for agreeing to come. Wouldn't it be somewhat farcical to have them all, including Turner sat around the family dining table? 

"I assume Mr Turner has started without us?" he said as a joke, hoping to lighten up the atmosphere a little in the room. But Weatherby coughed and Elizabeth's right eye seemed to twitch; he couldn't decide if he imagined it or if she really was giving him the slightest ever dirty look.

"Will has plans, and won't be joining us," she said casually, ignoring the look her father pretended to give James, but which in fact was meant to be seen by all; it said, "I know, what are those blacksmiths like?".

"I see, that's a shame," replied James in earnest, but he suspected the indifference of Elizabeth's gaze meant she didn't believe he really meant it. Eager to hurry things on, Weatherby suggested they headed towards the formal dining room, and James waited for Elizabeth to come out from between the couches. As she passed she gave him a look from the corners of her eyes, but James didn't want to try and decipher what it could mean.

"After you," he said softly. Never mind, he told himself, for once Elizabeth and Will were married the invites would have to stop. Perhaps the Governor would finally drop his prejudice. If not, James wouldn’t mind having company over at his own place now and again, though he could see the look on Andrew's face now, if he told him who would be joining them for dinner.

~+~

The Governor took his decision well, and only requested that Lieutenant Groves be put in command of a handsome looking ship. James could not help smiling at the vanity of his concern, but agreed nonetheless. Stood on the steps of his porch, he turned to the squeak of wheels and watched the carriage driving off past the low wall beneath the trees. For a second he thought he saw a familiar figure, the hands clasped behind his back, the feet moving with a funny little bounce. How carefree and far away from the true world such moments together suddenly seemed. He looked up at the navy sky and saw the moon; the pale disk looked tranquil, hanging in the clarity of the night. Not so long ago he had watched in a similar fashion and discovered a hidden sign, a warning for the Pearl. Remembering the entire incident filled him slowly with adrenaline, and the fingers on his right hand twitched as he remembered drawing out his pistol to shoot the first demon which locked eyes with him aboard the Dauntless. What was Andrew doing now? He realised he had been dithering on the step for a while, and decided he would not be retiring just yet; no, he wanted to go somewhere with noise, with the hearty company of men. The common haunt for all manner of people, and a nice distraction from his own sense of…funny, he suddenly stopped. Since when did he prefer the clamour of numbers over quietude? Not being in action made a man restless. He missed commanding a ship and her crew. Apart from the odd battle now and again, there was in fact quite a steady amount of time spent waiting for something to happen. The promise was that you never knew when; it could be during an idle afternoon top-up between filling in paperwork, or when he was sleeping in his bed and dreaming of a certain lieutenant. What had the Governor said to Elizabeth? Something about not gallivanting after pirates? In all honesty he wouldn’t mind chasing down another pirate ship just now.

~+~

The barmaid kept glancing over at him. She had an eyebrow arched, and her mouth was all drawn into a little bud as though she was measuring him up. James found her look interesting but glanced away before he gave out the wrong message. He supposed he must have stuck out quite a bit from the regulars, even out of his uniform. As he asked for a refill he gave his surroundings a casual scout, starting with the men clustered around the bar, and ending with a small gang crowded about a table to the far back. Now and then someone would burst into laughter. Sometimes a sailor would spring to his feet, thrusting his fist out at his opponent threateningly before a mate attempted to hold him back, muttering into his ear “Come on Barry, he’s not worth it." James wondered if eavesdropping was to become one of his secret pleasures. Raising his beverage to his lips, he watched as the mens' thick, brown hands slapped their cards upon the sticky surfaces. Somewhere in the room, hidden away in some obscure corner, the metallic clatter of coins hitting the table could only just be heard, followed by a low and secretive murmur. James's surveying eyes followed the sound and came across two men, one more senior than the other, both sat quite apart but with matching smiles on their faces; glancing down he thought he saw the younger one move his hand closer to the other's behind the haphazard wall of tumblers.

“If you don't mind me asking, sir," said a voice from nearby, and James stopped squinting. He turned his head and found the barmaid from before, coming up to his side carrying empty jugs. She was a small creature, but womanly in the sense that a good measure of curves could be called unmistakably feminine. There was an assertiveness in her body language, in the way she carried herself as much as there was confidence in the way she approached.

“You're new here aren't you?" she said, and James smiled good naturedly, casting aside his usual reserve.

"You are rather perceptive."

“How else can I tell the good men from the bad?"

James gave a short laugh, and watched as she stopped for a moment to retie her hair.

"You with the navy too?" she muffled around the ribbon in her mouth.

“No," he lied, lifting the tumbler again to take a sip. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and wondered at her scrutiny.

"I don't believe you," she said, "we only ever get sailors coming in, and the occasional officer or two. As a matter of fact, you remind me of someone."

"I do?"

“Yes, only you're more handsome than he is,” she said, grinning lopsidedly. James read a touch of wistfulness in the expression. "Was," she added afterwards. 

“Was."

"He was a handsome fellow, my brother-"

“Here you go Beth, table seven," interrupted the barman as he slid her two fresh tankards. James watched her as she carried the drinks over to a couple of men who were busy arm-wrestling. When she came back, another load was plunked before her, and James raised his tankard to sip slowly through the foam. He waited for her to talk some more, but the barman kept her busy. The door opened and shut again as men entered and left. Amongst the din, he heard the clatter of a tankard as it hit the floor, followed immediately by the heavy slamming of a thick limb against the table. The victor exploded into laughter and landed weighty slaps upon his opponent's shoulder in the attempt to shake him out of his grumbling. James was reaching into his pocket when the woman swept up beside him again.

“Are you an officer?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“What makes you think I am one?”

“You have that look about you.”

“Ah,” he said as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing some coins.

“Lieutenant?”

"That would be telling."

“Only a man of good rank would be as secretive as that,” she drawled, and James saw her raising her eyebrow again.

“You seem to know a lot about men of good rank.”

"Now that would be telling," she smirked, giving him a quick once-over. "But I wouldn't mind telling you. You look like the sort who would be good at lending an ear..." James chuckled, and decided to play along. It wasn't often he was flirted at in so open a manner.

"I do like tales."

"What kind of tales?" she narrowed her eyes at him playfully, and he leant closer towards her on his arms, pretending at secrecy.

"Tales of men of good rank," he half-whispered, and she reeled back on her feet, feigning shock with the press of fingers over her mouth.

"O sir, you are most terrible," she murmured lowly before resting her hand upon his arm. "But I shall tell you more if you first tell me your name." James glanced up and saw the barman had disappeared, probably slipped away to the back somewhere, turning a blind eye to business as usual. "I have no doubt that it begins with lieutenant." Her fingers stroked over the back of his hand, and the warmth of her touch reminded him of the time Andrew had nervously put his hand over James's upon the quarter deck rail. It was only there for a fraction of a second before he pulled away again, but James could never rid himself of that sensation since.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked, and he looked up from their hands.

"Someone I am beginning to miss much more than I imagined I would," he replied thoughtfully.

"I know how you feel," she said. "I'm missing someone when I shouldn't really be. All men go to sea after all. Only, I worry about this one. He's ever so sensitive sometimes, makes me wonder how he'll survive out there without me."

"Perhaps he ought to reconsider his career. The sea is for men who are able to withstand her abuse."

"I'm sure, though he most likely ran away because he was unable to take mine," she murmured in a suggestive manner, slowly stroking his hand. "I guess I can be too much to handle for some..."

"...then may you find someone capable before the night ends," said James as he slid his hand away from beneath hers and rose swiftly from his seat. Donning his hat, he gave the woman a small smile to soothe her mild indignation at his sudden departure before making his way to the door. Once outside he walked on down the street without any particular destination in mind. Looking back over his shoulder, the dim gold and red banner of The Crown was just about visible from the glow of company indoors. Carrying on, he wondered what would have happened if he had continued to flirt with the barmaid. No doubt one suggestive word would have slipped onto the next, and not long after they would've both been slipping out of the back door and into some dark alleyway. It would've been quick and easy, but not the sort of satisfaction which solved anything. Deep down he was still missing him, and the worst thing was he was now tormenting himself with wondering whether Andrew missed him back with the same ferocity. 

He stopped short when the cobbles did, and looked up to see where his aimless wandering had taken him. Under the light of the moon this small harbour looked peaceful and unthreatened by the wrath of nature. Lowering his eyes upon an old rowboat, the mesmeric rhythm of its bobbing somehow only added to his increasing unrest. His mind kept replaying scenes of horrific storms, and memories of Andrew shouting in vain through another blanket of rain; none of the men could hear what he was saying that one time, and nobody could blame them, since even James had to bark across the chaotic tumult until his throat was sore. The next day he had lost his voice, much to his embarrassment, and Andrew had to give his orders for him. Whilst he stood there, watching a little harbour, the Adamant could be steeling herself against harsher times, and he just couldn't stop himself speculating constantly on all sorts of possible mishaps. A scuffling sound distracted him for a second, and he turned his head towards the line of buildings to his right; someone was passing out from an alleyway, and then proceeding to walk, no creep against the wall, staying within its shadow. Something about the figure's stature and suspicious behaviour made James want to follow and investigate, and he slowly began to follow the other from a good distance behind. Eventually they rounded the corner of the last building, and James stepped out after him into the open square. From where he stood he could see the back of the figure, for a moment quite clearly illuminated by the moon's light.

“…Turner?” he murmured to himself, but before he could resume his pace Will had skulked off too quickly for his eyes to tell where. 

~+~

He found Lieutenant Fry on quarterdeck at the first break of light. The Captain was nowhere to be seen. Men were holystoning and sanding down the deck under the watch of the coxswain. They all worked with looks of grim determination, and the air hummed with the even and methodical sound of hands tending to their tasks, mingled with the grunt or two of effort. When Andrew had first boarded, the first thing he noticed was how perfectly kept the decks where, no matter where he paced. It was good practice to keep the men busy, he supposed, and yet he couldn’t help wondering whether it was perhaps a touch excessive; there must have been a number of jobs they could be doing instead.

“Good morning, Mr. Gillette.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant Fry,” Andrew returned as he stepped up beside the taller man, nodding once at the quartermaster who lifted a hand from the wheel to stifle a yawn. He looked embarrassed that Andrew had seen, and cleared his throat before turning his eyes onto the labouring lot. In all his years, Andrew had never served upon a ship with such a dedicated and solemn crew. He remembered serving on a brig once, where the task of holystoning was often accompanied by laughter and much talking, but nobody minded it so much because it was a good sign, apparently; at least, that was what the captain had told him. It was interesting, learning of the different systems upon different ships. Andrew believed he was collecting all the best examples so that one day he could possibly manage his own lot with the utmost efficiency. In all honesty, it used to be a plan which he thought about with much seriousness, when he was just getting used to the commodore, or Captain Norrington, as he had been at the time. If anything happened to James, he wouldn’t let him down.

“Slept well, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Andrew raised a hand to his jaw, touching where his razor had slipped. The tiny spaces allotted to each officer barely offered them privacy, but it was better than nothing. He tried to remember who occupied the cabin to his right. If that embarrassing ruckus had been the man’s idea of discretion he had much to learn, Andrew harrumphed to himself. Suddenly a memory of something Lieutenant Willis had said aboard the Dauntless brought heat to his face, and made him think twice about judging another. Something damp hit his cheek, and Andrew squinted up at the grey clouds above them.

“A bleak morning,” he muttered.

“It’ll clear soon enough, you’ll see.”

The men were finishing off now, and dispersed in their clusters one by one. A freak shower of rain sluiced the decks, and Andrew breathed in and exhaled deeply through his nose. They passed a long time without speaking, each stood with serious expressions on their faces to match those of the crew as they busied themselves here and there. The rain had lightened to a constant patter, and Andrew remembered that time James had managed to catch cold; his nose had turned the most hilarious shade of red, which only jarred the more with the man’s no-nonsense approach to everything. When he started sneezing, the lieutenants had to turn their faces away so that their superior officer could not see the desperate attempts to stifle their laughter; Andrew remembered overhearing one sailor saying how it must have been some sort of ill omen, “the cap’n sneezin’ so, nobody sneezes that many times all in one go…”. Andrew had always enjoyed the good joke now and again. Aboard the Adamant, the atmosphere was somewhat different. So far the only laughter he’d heard was from the Captain himself, and that was only when Lieutenant Fry had opened the door of the great cabin. He remembered the sly look on Harris’s face as he shared what Andrew suspected to be some sort of inside joke with the elder lieutenant, and wondered whether there was in fact a code of humour underlying the stricter, surface one of decorum. The last drops of rain died away and morning broke upon them with a vengeance as the most heavenly light vanquished the clouds at last. The bell tolled, and Andrew watched as the sun washed them anew with its rays.

“Told you so,” murmured Fry. They heard the sound of ascending steps, and turned to greet the Captain. Phillip Hunt looked every inch the respected commander, with the great furrows engraved into his brow, and a deep line scouring down each of his cheeks; they lent him a particularly grave air, especially when he frowned, which was most of the time. This morning he looked rather mild in comparison, as he marched towards the quarter deck rail and gripped it with his hands. The man was incredibly tall. When he stood beside James in the office during their formal introduction, the Captain was taller by a good few inches. It must have been rather hellish when he had been a lieutenant, Andrew thought idly to himself; how the man would have crammed himself into an officer’s cabin, he had no idea. Apart from the small difference in height, however, Andrew could see the Captain as the sort of figure James would eventually grow into. They shared the same mannerism, with that dry wit and cool disdain. Even their voices were similar, only Captain Hunt often growled beneath his breath and set his jaw whenever something was not to his liking.

Without a word from the Captain, Lieutenant Fry gestured to Bradley the boatswain, who then shouted from main deck for the men to fall in line. Andrew found his thoughts drifting again, even whilst he watched them strip the offender down to the waist. He couldn’t remember the date precisely, but it had been pouring non-stop for days. A man had been caught stealing, and Andrew had reported to the Captain immediately, the rogue having been suspected of ill behaviour for quite some time, but whose punishment had been put off by what Andrew believed to be James’s distaste for flogging. They had stood together like he did now with Lieutenant Fry and Captain Hunt, only James had looked utterly miserable that day, with the wind whipping dampness into his eyes whilst he preceded over the entire thing. His green eyes were drawn into cold and emotionless slits as they witnessed the snapping of the cat-o’-nine-tails, but Andrew saw the tiny grimace each time it landed and triggered another cry of pain. The rain kept falling mercilessly, washing the man’s blood down the deck. He remembered James saying later, “I may abide by the rules, Mr. Gillette, but that does not necessarily mean that I enjoy doing it.” His voice was very quiet, and judging from the paleness of his complexion, Andrew knew then how susceptible to guilt James really was.

Andrew counted twenty strokes, and was impressed to hear not so much as an utterance of pain. The muscles in the man’s back strained each time a new blow came, but even as his flesh tore and ran wet with blood, not a single sound left his lips. It was only when they flung a bucket of water at him, that he jerked from the rigging against which he was bound, gasping for his breath as though it had been the worst part of the ordeal. He must have fainted from the agony, Andrew thought. The Captain turned and left them without a word. Andrew turned his eyes back upon the man as the others dragged him down below.

“Have you had breakfast, Mr. Gillette?”

“No, not yet.”

He wondered whether breakfast after punishment was the Captain’s design. It was a rather beastly way to begin the day, but he supposed it would serve as a good wake-up call, or an early warning amongst the men. Not that he could truly imagine them misbehaving. The thief seemed almost an oddity against the general temperance of the crew, or what he understood it to be thus far; no man wished to step out of line, and if discipline levels were severe, he could see why.
 

The thin, wooden panelling barely separated them from the sounds of productivity upon the rest of the mess desk. Unlike dining with his old company, here the officers preferred to keep to themselves, and spared barely a word of conversation with one another. Andrew wondered if the men were acting reserved because of his presence. He chewed the morsels of salted meat before swallowing and picking up his glass, taking the chance to glance around the table. The wardroom aboard the Adamant was smaller than that upon the Dauntless, naturally, but the layout was the same, with its central dining table serving as the main area of congregation. At the moment it seemed discussing orders would prove easier than embarking on any rigorous means of conversation. His eyes took in each solemn expression in turn, the men’s faces made somewhat severe by the shadows cast from the lone lantern hung overhead. It squeaked terribly with the ship’s movements, and he wondered why it hadn’t been oiled. Without the noise of conversation the sound was almost painfully conspicuous, and yet nobody but him seemed to notice.

“I heard you have battled the undead, Lieutenant Gillette,” someone spoke up at last, and he looked up from his stew to a somewhat sallow-looking man sat further down the table. Quickly he searched his memory for a name and title; Harris, the Royal Marine officer. He looked too youthful for his post, though he seemed to carry a certain world-weariness upon his sharp, bony features. His dark eyes glinted as they watched him, and Andrew tried not to seem too eager to break the silence by taking his time with a sip of wine.

“Yes,” he swallowed and dabbed his mouth with the napkin, “as strange as it may sound.” Someone snorted loudly, and a man leant back from the table, cradling a glass in his hand. It was the ship’s surgeon, Mr. Phillips. Like the others, he wore a strangely dreary look in his eye, accentuated by dark and severe eyebrows. They were drawn into such a tight knot that Andrew found it impossible to imagine them forming a more amiable line; perhaps Mr. Phillips had never been inclined to stop looking habitually harassed, which was understandable considering his profession.

“There are many strange tales to be heard at sea,” the surgeon commented dryly as he raised his glass and gulped a large mouthful. The three deep and distinct lines in his brow looked as though they had been put there by a blade; the receded hairline showed them off like battle scars. Andrew noticed how nobody else at the table seemed to be listening in, most of them continuing to finish their meals as though it were just another task to be completed. Even the officer who had spoken first, now had his eyes turned away with indifference.

“Perhaps you would care to share some with the rest of us?” he suggested lightly, and found the cold, beady gaze falling upon his person.

“What need is there when we have your own exciting accounts?”

Andrew felt himself stiffening under the surgeon’s tone; it was not openly hostile, yet laced with scepticism nonetheless.

“What did they look like?” a new voice joined in from his right; Lieutenant Wilson, who had thus far received his new senior lieutenant with a total of one utterance and two terse nods, was now regarding him with a bored look. Andrew felt himself beginning to bristle under the skin. Someone lowered their cutlery noisily against the plate, and the clatter sliced through the air, which had suddenly seemed to become laden with unpleasant undertones. He wanted to change the subject. Both Phillips and Wilson seemed to be challenging the credibility of his account; the subtlety of their manners did not escape him one bit, having gained much experience from attempting to read the Commodore’s mind through his each and every grimace. Luckily he was saved by the late appearance of the first lieutenant. The bustle from the men at their mess tables poured in immediately through the panel doors as the tall figure let himself in. Mr. Phillips cleared his throat softly, and Lieutenant Wilson turned his eyes upon his superior like the rest of them who nodded briefly and uttered their quiet addresses.

“Lieutenant Fry,” Andrew addressed him similarly as the elder man strode over to take his seat at the head of the table.

“Gentlemen,” he returned the formality as the steward brought out his stew. They sat and finished eating in the senior lieutenant’s presence, staying long enough for another drink or two, and the odd game of cards before one by one they dismissed themselves from the table. Andrew watched as Harris yawned and shuffled the cards in those peculiarly delicate and pale hands of his. The Marine officer glanced up and met his eye.

“Shall I leave them for your use?” he asked.

“No, it’s-” Andrew began to say, when the other remaining company broke in.

“If you don’t mind, Officer Harris. I would like to play a hand or two with Lieutenant Gillette.”

“Very well. The queen of hearts is missing, though,” the young man broke into a somewhat sly smile, and Andrew saw Lieutenant Fry chuckling as he raised another spoonful to his lips.

“So long as the king remains, all will be well.”

Andrew caught the worn, tatty pack as Harris slid it down the table effortlessly; the servant boy managed to raise the pitcher out of its way just in time.

“I’m sure. Good evening to you gentlemen,” the officer dipped his chin before raising from the table and making his way over to the door of his cabin.

“So,” the low voice drew his attention back to the table, and he found himself watching the heavy mess of scars criss-crossing almost every knuckle. Andrew glanced briefly down at his own hands and noted how relatively clean they were in comparison.

“How do you find her?”

“Very well. The men seem exceptionally disciplined…I was a little surprised to find that my presence did not stir a single brow. Indeed, they carried on as though I had always been their instructor.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that,” said the lieutenant as he picked up his glass; Andrew saw that he had finished his meal in a matter of minutes. Dining itself was not a leisurely act, then, at least not for the officers of the Adamant. “Of course, if they behaved any different I daresay they would feel it,” the man murmured, and Andrew tapped the cards out into his hand.

“I understand the Captain prizes himself on discipline.”

“Naturally. It is the backbone of conduct, after all.”

“Yes, I agree,” he tapped the worn edges against the table and smoothed back some folded corners.

“Although not all of us are perfect exemplars, I’m afraid.”

“No…” Andrew uttered as he shuffled, remembering Mr. Phillip’s almost accusatory comments, and wondering whether Lieutenant Fry had the same individuals in mind.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Gillette,” he leant forwards upon his elbows, swirling the last sip in his glass. “Was your old wardroom ever as fun as ours?” he smiled ironically, and Andrew lofted his brows at the rare expression, taking it as a sign for one to relax. He sucked in a breath and released it noisily; the sound said it all, and Lieutenant Fry chuckled. Andrew began to feel increasingly at ease within the other man’s presence. As serious as he appeared, he did not make you feel as self-conscious and constantly on guard as the others did.

“The general display of stoicism is admirable,” Andrew said lightly, and the lieutenant snorted before gesturing to the boy for a refill.

“Funny, but the triviality of banter hadn’t crossed my mind until you came along, lieutenant.”

Andrew blushed and cleared his throat, tapping the cards loudly against the table.

“If I remember correctly it was in fact you who approached first with lines of poesy,” he retorted mildly, and saw the fair brows lofting.

“Ah, yes, you are right, I suppose romance could be considered my weakness…” the voice retained its ironic tone, and yet the pale eyes drifted thoughtfully onto the glowing lantern. “…as hard as it is to believe. One wouldn’t usually marry stoicism with romance, I don’t think.”

Andrew suddenly thought of his commanding officer, and wondered what he was doing this very moment.

“I think all men are susceptible to the gentler passions of the human heart, despite the grim truth of experience which often works against them…” he murmured.

“Spoken like a true romantic.”

Andrew was about to protest when Lieutenant Fry released a heavy sigh and leant back in his chair.

“My wife used to play Greensleeves all the time…it used to drive me mad,” he grunted, “she had an ear for sadness, a guest once said, and I asked her never to play it again lest people suspected there was something wrong with our marriage…”

Andrew laughed politely, turning the deck of cards slowly in his hands.

“And did she stop?” he asked.

“Not a chance. The woman continued to ignore my protests until the very end.”

“Ah…” Andrew stopped playing with the cards and studied the eight of clubs.

“Came back from one disastrously long voyage and she was gone. Had been for a year.”

“How terrible…” he uttered quietly. There was a pause as Lieutenant Fry fell to musing; Andrew looked over and saw those pale eyes narrowed and locked upon the lantern, which was squeaking all over again upon its hinge. Perhaps the incident of his wife’s death was the main cause of the lieutenant’s scepticism for the ignorant romanticising of the navy.

“Are you a married man, Mr Gillette?”

“No…not yet, I’m afraid,” he lied.

“Waiting upon the perfect creature with a father in the Admiralty?” the lieutenant said dryly as he watched Andrew with a face devoid of emotion.

“Well I…have met with such a creature…” he began to say before he could stop himself, “…most respectable connections…yet…” Andrew paused and glanced down at the cards, clearing his throat as he realised how ridiculous he sounded.

“So you were lying before.”

“Well-”

“Clearly she must be of notable status, for you to react so defensively.”

Andrew felt his brow contorting and he picked up his glass to take a long sip of wine.

“…I suppose that is true,” he spoke quietly, almost into the glass itself, “to an extent…”

The lieutenant suddenly chuckled, spreading out his large hands upon the table to smooth out the faintest crease in the tablecloth before gesturing for the cards.

“I apologise,” he said as Andrew handed over the deck. “I do not mean to pry.”

“No, it’s quite alright…it is…quite refreshing, I think…in a way…to speak on it.”

“I see. There is the saying, I believe…a trouble shared, is a trouble halved.”

Andrew snorted as he watched him deal.

“In my experience it is rather doubled…”

“Is that so.”

He pushed his glass to one side and rested his elbow upon the table.

“Neither of us can seem to break free from our confines…at least, that’s the trouble we share,” Andrew murmured as he leant his head against his hand, eyes upon the growing pile of cards in front of him. “At times I cannot help feeling as though there’ll always be something on the verge of…well…perhaps I am simply exaggerating. But it can be hard, nonetheless.”

“Not as hard as apprehending the vagueness of your words. Ah, there I go again. I seem to do it without knowing. Perhaps that is why Lieutenant Wilson prefers to keep his distance.”

Andrew thought about how he much preferred the senior lieutenant’s company to that of the younger lieutenant’s; there was an air of hidden arrogance about the latter which didn’t sit well with him.

“It’s quite alright…though I would only bore you to tears if I carried on. Come, let us play. I do believe you owe me a story, Lieutenant Fry.”

The man arched a fair eyebrow as he spread his hand into an even fan.

“I prefer not to encourage further lovesickness in a fellow officer,” he muttered, scratching his jaw as he regarded the cards coolly. Andrew turned his own eyes upon his hand and reached up to itch his wig with a frown.

“Mr. Phillips apparently knows an abundance of sea tales,” he grunted at the memory of the suspected slighting, “though he is not keen on sharing any of them, it seems.”

“A man of his profession is bound to be less susceptible to superstition than others, Lieutenant Gillette, especially if one considers the amount of men he has witnessed dying upon his table over the years…you don’t get a harder truth than that.”

“I suppose you are right,” Andrew nodded as he shifted a couple of cards to the right, wondering whether he had in fact read too much into the surgeon’s behaviour earlier.

“After you, lieutenant.”

~+~

Although business was pretty much as usual down at the Fort, James had to remain in case something serious came their way which required his consent for action. He returned to his office with the Governor after an afternoon detour down to the docks to see what progress was made on the repairing of the brigs.

“Would you care for an afternoon top-up, Governor?” James asked as he shrugged out of his heavy coat. It was a particularly warm day, and his head itched with sweat beneath the wig. He guessed it must’ve been twice as bad for his company and his sumptuously heavy curls. It must have trapped so much excess heat, James thought idly as he pulled open his lower drawer at the desk and pulled out the old bottle of liquor; perhaps not looking so professional as he did so, but the Governor did not seem to mind, as eager for refreshment as he was.

“I do think it would be madness to refuse one,” he said, pulling out his trustworthy handkerchief. “So, a matter of weeks you say?”

“It shan’t take long at all, if you recall your own journey back then,” James grinned as he poured the other a glass. He looked up as the older man leant back in his chair with a sigh.

“Ah yes…not very long at all…” he murmured and thanked James as he took the offered claret, raising it to his lips whilst watching one of the paintings hung on the wall.

“I could be wrong,” James said as he followed his gaze, leaning back in his own chair, “…but you seem somewhat anxious, still…”

“Spot on as usual, commodore,” he grinned, and James tried to return the slightly strained expression. “I daresay nothing has quite a chance against such levels of perceptivity.”

James felt that familiar warmth beginning to grow within his chest, till it mingled with the effect of the liquor. Though he had no reason to utterly denounce the bulk of the Governor’s past praise as mere flattery to win himself a good son-in-law, it was rather pleasant knowing the man could only honestly mean what he now said. Still, James read a faint tone of regret in the other’s words, as though he was still lamenting his daughter’s choice of a good husband.

“But yes,” he sighed again, and James waited patiently for him to collect his words, raising his glass to sip slowly. “I suppose I am terribly anxious to see the good Lady…and dear Frederick, too, of course…but I shouldn’t burden a busy man like yourself with such…personal affairs,” he closed his eyes and raised a hand to rub his brow. James thought it would prove a wonderful distraction from his own emotional turmoil, brewing discreetly underneath that surface calm and droll little smile.

“By all means, Governor, if it helps to talk about it…”

“O, I don’t know,” he shook his head, heaving another sigh and James felt like telling the man to stop being so dramatic and be out with it already. “I’ve probably raised enough suspicion already with my ridiculous fretting...”

“Be at ease, Governor, it’s not as though you have committed a crime.”

James paused as he recognised the blush of embarrassment as distinct from that caused by stifling weather; a past affair, he guessed immediately, between the man and the Lady. And Frederick? Or ‘dear’ Frederick, as the Governor had put it.

“I suppose Elizabeth may view things somewhat differently,” he said with another loud exhale, and rubbed at the side of his face absently with the decorative linen. “It’s really all quite improper, I shouldn’t have-” he glanced over at James, who glanced down at his desk. The Governor cleared his throat quickly before continuing. “I trust you to keep this strictly-”

“Between us,” James cut in swiftly, and smiled faintly as he met the other’s eye once more, holding his gaze. “You may rest assured, Governor, that nobody shall hear a word of it.”

“Good…good…”

“Of course, you intend to explain to Elizabeth…?”

“O yes, yes of course…in due time. I suppose it would come as a bit of a shock, learning one has suddenly acquired a-” he paused, and James spun the glass slowly by its stem.

“…how old is Frederick, if you don’t mind me asking.”

The Governor was observing a different painting this time, his gaze troubled, and yet as the seconds passed, his expression seemed to settle upon a mixture of fond recollection mingled with a touch of regret.

“Older than Elizabeth by two years, or so…”

“Ah…”

He waited, but Weatherby said no more, and his embarrassment seemed to have ebbed a little; his face was starting to look less red. James rose from the desk and paced around slowly.

“I don’t know why I have just told you all this…” he murmured as James poured more claret into his empty glass. He drew away the lip of the bottle and the two edges struck against each other, the glass leaving a tinkling note to linger in the air between them.

“I suppose speaking aloud one’s problems may…help put them into proportion…” James said quietly, and pondered over what he had just said; the advice sounded convincing, but it contradicted his own lack of practice. In fact, he preferred to do just the opposite, brooding on his problems alone and keeping all at a constant arm’s length away; even Andrew. Weatherby may be embarrassed and shamed by an old affair, and sure enough the consequences could make an unpleasant comeback years later, but they could never compare to the possible end he himself, and Andrew could come to. And he knew they often came much too close to tripping straight into that dreaded noose. Now that he’d sent the lieutenant away to join the Adamant, he found that irrational part of him missing Andrew like a stranded fish missed its water. That part of him kept hoping for his speedy return, hopefully all in one piece, whilst the other part, the part which made the decision without first asking the other, had to stick its oar in with its practicality. But of course, love was never practical. One look at the Governor and his incessant sighing only seemed to confirm it; the man sounded very fond of Lady Bertram and Frederick, too much for it to have been a reckless moment of lust. Suddenly James felt himself transported back to his last moments with the lieutenant. He had thought nothing of the other’s ridiculous monologue, some joke about having someone to mend his stockings - silly, really. But perhaps there was more to his words, an undertone of some discomfort which he always managed to hide so damned well. It made no sense for him to denounce marriage one moment and appraise it the next; James thought he was just being ironic at the time, and was too busy worrying about leaving the house unnoticed to read into such things, but now that he thought about it, Andrew had seemed a little…disappointed, perhaps…indeed, the sudden change of attitude with his parting words were almost out of character. Desperate, even, to persuade James not to seek physical comfort with another during his absence, though James himself claimed he didn’t mind whether Andrew kept a whore or no. Yes, he’d said, but this was different. His brow felt tight, and he raised his hand to rub it with his fingers. How could he have been so callous?

“Commodore…?”

“Beg pardon, Governor” he snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the Governor’s voice. “I’m afraid I was drifting for a moment...”

“Ah…as was I, actually…only I came back before you did,” he smiled that strained smile of his, and James pushed away from the edge of the desk.

“Perhaps we ought to have eaten first,” James grinned, and was relieved to hear a chuckle in response.

“Rightly so.”

As he shrugged back into his coat, James released an inner sigh, and had to resist frowning for the sake of his company. If Andrew had been a female, and everything had happened according to the normal circumstances of courtship, it would seem utterly absurd to send away the apparent beloved having just obtained their hand, figuratively speaking; for them it was somewhat more, of course. He could argue with perfect reason that it was for the sake of giving the other the opportunity to face action, and build upon his experience. Yet it didn’t stop his memory from returning and attempting to unravel images which were already beginning to blur; how had Andrew said what he had said back when, and with what kind of intonation? James realised he only asked more questions to complicate what was in effect, the simplest answer; the fact that Andrew was hurt, but felt like he had no real choice. But if James faced the truth now, he would only fret for the rest of the time Andrew remained at sea, and he couldn’t let that happen. He tried to channel his guilt into deeper, stronger prayers, and knew that come night, alone again in his bed, he would not succumb to rest until he had pleaded for the hundredth time with the one he feared more than anything, begging him with all he had, to protect that one person who meant so impossibly much.

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously."

Andrew turned his face and squinted under the bright glare of the sun at the tall figure striding up to the rail.

"You look surprised, Mr Gillette. Is my poesy not to your taste?"

Pale blue eyes watched him coolly.

“I didn't see you as a man of poetry, sir.”

He looked away towards the disappearing bay, and Andrew wondered if he had offended him.There was something sombre about the elder man’s presence, Andrew thought to himself. Something almost ominous in that dark, crinkled brow, which seemed to affect even those around him with its solemn gravity. The hands which spread out upon the rail were greatly weathered, showing signs of wear and tear over the years; each fine, raised line, was a record of past confrontation.

“Then what kind of a man do you see me as, Mr Gillette.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I simply meant that you seem too practical to be taken by such frivolities.” Andrew pushed up from the rail and straightened his back. The older man chuckled, but it was not a jovial sort of sound. It was more ironic, a sceptical sort of rumble; one which seemed to mark out the superior standing of a senior officer. Andrew felt his brows knotting.

“If I really considered poetry frivolous,” he said with the faintest of smiles, “I would not have made the attempt at conversation.”

Andrew felt his head itch under his wig, but resisted the urge to scratch. What was the man talking about? He hadn't said anything to give him the idea that he liked poetry; in fact he hadn't been saying anything at all, preferring to brood in silence as he watched back at the bay and thought about what he was leaving behind.

“I apologise, I’m afraid I have a lot on my mind,” he uttered somewhat awkwardly. The lieutenant shifted to lean down casually upon the rail.

“I thought I could recognise that old look of melancholy.”

“…you mean?”

“A good time at sea ought to dispel it.”

“…do I really seem so ill spirited?”

“You’re not the only one,” one of his large nicked hands reached back into his coat, “as you shall soon come to hear. The Captain himself is sick with pining ever since we left England.”

Andrew watched the vague speck Port Royal had become. How did the man know his thoughts? Suddenly those pale eyes seemed dangerous, much too perceptive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” he muttered warily, and heard that chuckle again.

“Then you are not pining over a loved one?”

The hand withdrew a silver snuff-box, similar in its design to Lieutenant Willis’s.

“No. And I don't know how you have managed to come to that conclusion, sir.”

Fair eyebrows lofted casually, and Andrew felt himself bristling under that piercing gaze.

“Ah. My mistake, then. I always thought Greensleeves a tune for the lovesick.”

“O,” Andrew felt the tension dropping from his brow, “you were referring to my whistling all this time?”

“I don't recite lyrics of thwarted love to my fellow officers on a daily basis, just so you know.”

Andrew laughed, feeling less on edge, knowing the other was simply making idle conversation. How silly of him, to think he was being attacked when the lieutenant was only making some effort to know the new officer a little better. The willingness to share gossip upon the Captain should’ve told him that Fry was not a hostile competitor.

“Forgive me, I have a tendency of becoming defensive rather quickly.”

“And perhaps I am too quick to assume. It is not an uncommon tune after all.”

“So...thwarted love, did you say?”

“Men of practicality shouldn’t waste time on such frivolous things.”

Andrew laughed, suddenly wishing James was there, so he could share the little inside joke; how ironic that their tune should be about thwarted love, as opposed to some innocent nursery ryhme which he had thought it to be. 

"Though I must say, being a practical officer doesn’t make one opposed to feeling entirely.”

“No, of course not.”

“I’d imagine the song’s composer wouldn’t have considered his a frivolous occupation at the time.”

“You have worked up my curiosity, sir.”

“I shall explain over dinner, now that I have met with a fellow romantic.”

He was about to say how much he disliked poetry, when the joviality ebbed from the other man's voice, and it was replaced with a tone which matched the seriousness of his pensive expression.

“Wouldn’t you say the navy itself has been somewhat romanticised? The great ship and her brave crew, raging epic war out in the open sea, far away from the rest of civilisation.”

Andrew squinted from the glare bouncing off the vivid expanse of sea before them.

“I suppose it is, when one puts it that way...”

“They hear word of another heroic victory, but who remembers those who have gained nothing but watery graves…leaving no mark for the poor souls back home to visit and remember…"

"Yes...it is most unfortunate..."

"...but perhaps I am raining upon our spirits," the man straightened up and turned to grin somewhat grimly at him. "One shouldn’t speak so negatively during the early days of a voyage after all."

Andrew felt uneasy, and wanted to ask whether Lieutenant Fry had lost someone important the last time he sailed. It seemed odd for him to welcome a new officer aboard the ship in such a gloomy manner. He wasn't unfriendly, and at least made more of an effort than Lieutenant Wilson had, but Andrew would have appreciated something less...pressing. It was bad enough trying not to think about his commanding officer too much, but the other's reminder of their mortality and the reality of battle struck a sharp note in his own brain. He was not an inexperienced sapling. He knew what it was like to watch men around him dying in the heat of battle. It just made him that bit more apprehensive now that he had someone waiting for him back home.

James watched from the doorway as Elizabeth tinkered on the piano. She was humming along to the melody in that absent-minded way that one does when in love. Funny how it didn’t seem so long ago, when James had hoped he could be the one to occupy her mind just so.

“I had no idea you played so well,” he said quietly once she finished. The slender neck turned, and James marvelled for a moment at the weight it supported, unable to help noticing the additional hairpieces which were largely absent during his own past visits.

“James…”

Her dark eyes were wary, but he turned his own gaze upon the window with the faintest of smiles.

“It’s too pleasant a day to be spent indoors.”

She rose from the seat and lowered the lid of the piano.

“I agree,” she turned and clasped her hands together, smiling just a touch awkwardly. “Perhaps we could take a walk out in the garden?”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiled, “I wouldn’t want to whisk you away from any appointments which you may have.”

“James,” she swept closer and rested her hand upon his sleeve. “You don’t have to be so polite…come take a walk with me. I insist.” He watched the proud lift of her chin, a gesture he had seen so many times before, and wondered at the show of generosity. It was as though she was willing to be his friend, now that it was established he would no longer be harassing her with the advances of a potential suitor. He was no longer considered a threat. To what, exactly? Her independence? Did she see him as another oppressive enforcer of the established patriarchy? Now he was considered second rate to Will Turner, but a man who still deserved her respect because he admitted it gracefully. Deep down, of course, he still burned with indignation. But she had helped him, in a way, to see beyond what would have been.

“I would be delighted…”

They were interrupted by the maid’s appearance.

“Mr. Turner, miss, he says he’s waiting for you in the garden.”

“O, tell him I shall be there shortly.”

“Yes, miss.”

The woman glanced briefly from Elizabeth to James as she did a small curtsy, then left. James shook his head at the apologetic smile.

“It’s quite alright. Perhaps some other time.”

“You know, James, you mustn’t let all this prevent you from visiting,” she said quietly. “It is very much father’s hope that we maintain good relations…and I would like us to be friends, still.”

“Of course.”

“I hope…you had not found me too overly unpleasant in the past…”

“Not at all. And you may rest assured,” James smiled and looked up from his shoes, “I prefer to look ahead rather than dwell on what’s past…and perhaps you ought to go now, before Will gets worried.”

“Thank you, James…you always were the perfect gentleman,” she smiled at him with a mixture of gratitude and sarcasm before peering out into the corridor. “Where has father gone now…”

“Don’t trouble yourself, I can wait for him here.”

“Yes…well,” she looked back and up at him, and touched his arm. “Thank you again, for being so understanding.”

“Not at all. Enjoy your walk.”

She smiled and the hand slipped away. James watched her sweep past and down the full length of the corridor until she disappeared, then strode into the room. Bright light streamed in through the windows, and James suddenly felt like he should be back at the Fort. He knew there was nothing major which required his seeing to, but his purpose of such an idle afternoon visit was mostly to satisfy the Governor’s request. His mind had been on the Adamant since she left port, and he had trouble remembering what it was exactly that Weatherby had wanted to see him about. At least he managed to confirm a sense of mutual understanding between himself and Elizabeth. He was glad to find that he harboured no jealous thoughts regarding the young lovers, yet thinking about their easy courtship made him frown. Will was a blacksmith. The only thing which separated him from Elizabeth was a carriage ride.

“Look on the sea and think of me…as I shall of you.”

His eyes fell back upon the piano, and he walked towards it slowly, reaching out to run his hand along the polished planes of wood. He lifted the lid silently and touched the keys.

“I did not know you played, commodore.”

James smiled and looked up to the figure stood at the door.

“Not since I was a boy.”

Weatherby was looking hot and flustered, and he strode into the room dabbing his brow with a handkerchief.

“Yes, I was never much good myself, and neither, I’m afraid, is Elizabeth, despite all those lessons I’ve lavished upon her-”

“She was playing before, and it sounded quite delightful.”

“Pah,” the governor plunked himself down into an armchair, “she used to throw tantrums at the old music teacher and make the most monstrous racket on the thing. Now she’s grown into an even more wayward…would you care for some refreshment?” the governor realised he was falling into the habitual ramble about his daughter to a man who no longer had a reason to want to know. James smiled politely, and held his hands behind his back as he looked towards the windows again.

“No, thank you, governor. One shouldn’t return to the Fort drunk, even if at times it seems there is nothing better to do than to drink away a somewhat dull afternoon…”

“Ah yes, the Adamant should be well on her way now, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, she left upon a leading wind.”

“Good, good. We shall wish Captain Hunt the best of luck for his mission,” he said airily as he tucked his handkerchief away again. “Though I called you here, commodore, regarding some personal business.”

“I see.”

“An acquaintance of mine, the honourable Lady Bertram, wishes to pay us a visit...I believe she has expressed much enthusiasm about the possibility of migration, unless I am reading too much into the letters. I am rather keen to impress her, however…” he lofted his brows at James.

“Ah…”

“And I could think of no better way to do so, than to send her one of the navy’s finest...”

“Of course. Will she be travelling alone?”

“O no,” the governor blushed, “no, she has a son, Frederick, a fine young lad.”

“And the father?”

“O, he died quite a few years back.”

“I see.”

“We were close friends back in England. I was always much impressed by the grandeur of her lifestyle, though now I wish to return the favour...”

James saw a rather wistful look surfacing in the governor’s eyes, and started to think about his own home back in England.

“You may rely on me, governor, to ensure that Lady Bertram and her son has a fast and safe journey. I guarantee that they shall arrive on our shores very much enthused.”

“Good, good,” he beamed and rose up from the chair. “Although try not to mention the battle aboard the Dauntless…? I wouldn’t want to frighten the good woman with tales of the undead…”

“No, of course not.”

“Very well, then,” Weatherby heaved a sigh and nodded, “I shall write and inform Lady Bertram of the arrangement.”

“Very well, governor.”

He smiled, and looked at him admirably; James felt a faint glow starting in his chest beneath that almost fatherly gaze. And to think he came that close to becoming his son-in-law. The man was pompous and had a tendency for prattling on at times, but James quite enjoyed his company nonetheless, and it was nice to be valued as a friend despite his thwarted role as the most eligible suitor.

“Maria-”

The girl stopped and turned around again.

“Yes, sir?”

James paused for a moment as she waited, brown eyes patient and attentive. For a second he almost thought to ask if she would join him at the table for dinner, or if indeed any of the others cared to break their bread, and share mundane tales with the master of the house.

“Could you bring me some more water, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her slip out of the dining room, then turned back with a sigh to his dinner. Picking up the knife and fork, he cut into his steak and stopped when the pink fluid pooled out onto the plate. Somehow it did not look as appetising as he had wished. The sight of blood troubled him, and he found his thoughts settling once more upon the Adamant. He looked down the length of the table, at the empty chair sat at the opposing end.

“I am beginning to see why Maria said it is rare for guests to be invited for dinner…”

Captain Hunt was a respected man, and he had a total of three capable lieutenants with him aboard the ship. The crew would be experienced and well disciplined. There would be no hesitation when the Captain gave the word to open fire, and the men would launch their attack in an orderly and precise fashion, probably under the supervision of the new lieutenant himself. The madness would be over in a matter of minutes, and the steady winds of victory shall make sure the Adamant makes a safe and speedy return. There would be a minimal amount of casualties, due to the efficiency of the crew, and he would invite Captain Hunt and the other officers to dine at his house to celebrate their successful mission. Perhaps it could turn into a small, contained party, with guests staying over in his many well furnished rooms. A rascally officer would slip off upstairs with a giggling female, but he would turn a blind eye. Under the general ruckus of merry company, he would catch that one particular person’s eye, and hold it all through the night, hoping he could express through his gaze alone, how much he had missed him. Maria came back into the room, and James raised the fork to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed; the slight tang of the meat made him think of kissing starved and split lips.

~+~

James turned over onto his side and stared at the flame of the candle. Closing his eyes, he remembered the tone of his voice, the change in his gaze as possessive need flickered across its deep, dark depths. He thought of the familiar scents, of the sound of their mingled breaths. With a weighty sigh he lifted his head off the pillow and pinched out the flame of the candle at his bedside.

Darkness descended upon the room, and Andrew's playful chuckle came back to him hauntingly, followed by that secret, almost pained utterance of bliss during those last moments, of that laboured breath blowing against the back of his ear. James swallowed and realised how dry his throat had become. He felt as though something had been squeezed out of him, and he panicked at the unmistakable void left in his mind by the other's absence, at the speed with which it grew and threatened to consume his every thought. There was no denying its presence, no matter what front he fought to maintain.

“Be safe,” he whispered into the dark, wondering if mere words could ever travel across heroic distances. He closed his eyes and imagined his face and prayed for a safe return journey for the fifth time. “I love you."

 

The red glow of candlelight stirred him from the unpleasant dream he had only briefly slipped in to. Slowly he blinked open his eyes, grimacing as they tried to adjust to the sudden glare of the yellow flame. James was smiling behind it.

"Greetings."

“What time is it?” he asked groggily as he rubbed a hand over his face. James replaced the candle upon the bedside table and Andrew watched as he tried to stifle a huge yawn against his hand. Through the dimness of the room he could make out those dark locks of tousled hair, and he remembered having his nose buried in the soft tresses as he breathed in greedily another man's scent of stale sweat and something rather unique; what that unique thing was he could ponder over in his spare time.

"Time to make a move."

He murmured discontent beneath his breath and sunk back down against the bed. There wouldn't be a chance for them to stay a while longer, he thought to himself. Once James had his mind set on doing something it was unlikely he would allow himself to become distracted. A satisfied man could walk out to his death, and after James's performance what was to keep him from shooting off? Andrew started to sit up when the dull ache hit him and he sagged against the pillows with an inward sigh; James only won their scramble because Andrew let him. They almost rented the sheets during their second bout, and Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that James was using him more viciously than he had done thus far as a kind of compensation for the earlier act of submission Andrew had managed to press him into. Pride was something no man would want to sacrifice, not even for a second to the person sharing his bed and those dark, ugly secrets. He watched as James ran a hand through his hair and pushed aside the sheets to swing his long legs out of the bed. Andrew closed his eyes and released a noisy sigh.

“It’s still dark,” he said, protesting because he could. 

"That's precisely the point," replied James, and he opened one eye to observe the contours forming the long stretch of James’s back as he sat on the edge, revealed to him by the flickering and feeble candlelight. "Best way to go unnoticed."

“Like a couple of bleeding pirates,” Andrew snorted, finally untangling himself from the hazardous sheets.

“I resent the comparison,” said James in his standard monotone, and Andrew watched him pacing towards the nearest bedroom window.

His eyes fell upon James's uniform, draped neatly over the chair propped against the wall beside the window, and scoffed at the sight. Something about the orderliness annoyed him. Could the man not afford to relax, even in a house where the only inhabitants were themselves? Granted they still had to escape the neighbourhood unnoticed, but here, in the private space of his very bedroom, couldn't they at least savour something of this rare meeting? Nobody liked wallowing in the aftermath of their own sweat and filth, for sure, but as sordid as it was it belonged to them. Here they could finally afford to have some peace of mind before things returned to normal, and he would have to recall the service of the servants before they scorned him for taking away their livelihood. Now that he was about to leave port, he wondered if he ought to send the letter out requesting them to come back, or wait until after he'd returned; he still didn't completely trust the lot of them.  

And besides, he didn't even know how long precisely he would be at sea for. James certainly didn't seem to be worried about it. Fairly soon he would be answering to Captain Hunt and testing the waters with the other officers. He could see himself now, boarding the Adamant. He would turn around and wave a hand back at Theodore, Willis, anyone else watching, not least the commodore himself whilst grinning with clenched teeth, and uttering a curse behind them. Something like "May you fairly itch for me on your lonesome nights", perhaps. Or, "May you sigh and toss restlessly every night whilst I'm gone." Yes, that sounded about right, he thought.

"What?" asked James. Andrew looked up at him and was disgusted to find the man nearly all ready; a pox on his efficiency, he thought. Was he really so damned eager to go?

“What?" he echoed as he sat down on the edge of the bed with his stockings.

"You said something just then."

"Did I? Hm, I really ought to have these mended..."

"I don't know how you've managed so far without a maid at the least," James muttered as he turned to peer past a gap in the curtains.

"I'm no clearer than you are on that," huffed Andrew as he tugged the material up his leg. "For she sure had no qualms about being flung down and ruffled," he continued to say airily. "None whatsoever."

“If you don’t hurry we’ll risk being caught.”

"She used to serve me breakfast in bed, too," he said, getting into his breeches and standing up to button them. "Tea with sugar and two kisses."

"Sounds delightful," said James dryly, leaving the curtains to find his shoes. "Why on earth did you let her go?"

"Oh I couldn't say," Andrew replied nonchantly. "I suppose somehow I thought I'd have enough to wake up to." He pulled his waistcoat up over his shoulders and started buttoning up, turning towards James.

"Escaping unseen, with our skins intact would be reason enough I would have thought."

"Hm. I miss my tea already," he muttered, reaching for his rumpled cravat. James strode over and tugged it swiftly from his hand.

"Sugar, with two kisses?" said James as he pulled the material taut between his hands and hooked it around Andrew's neck.

"Three," murmured Andrew with a small lift to a corner of his lips. He lifted his chin as James slid the knot fast and pulled it tight. Their eyes met, and he added, "Maybe four."

"Hm."

Andrew grinned to himself as James walked past to find his shoes. He started searching for his wig, and found it under the bed; he must have kicked it there by accident. Grabbing the candle he got on his knees and tried to locate the pins.

"What have you lost?"

"Pins."

"Come to my office."

"You have a hidden dresser in your office?" asked Andrew as he turned his head.

"You left one or two behind," said James coolly, though Andrew saw that little twitch at the corner of his lips. "They're sitting there in my bottom drawer."

"And you're keeping them for what purpose exactly?"

"I've not kept a memento before."

Andrew snorted and straightened up.

"For a moment I thought we didn't have time for idle nonsense," he said, mimicking the other's droll monotone as he swung the wig around with his hand.

                                                                                             ~+~

James drummed his fingers upon the desk, wondering what was keeping the lieutenant. Then he saw through his window the familiar uniformed figure, marching into view, and released a small sigh of relief; hopefully they had left a large enough gap between their separate journeys, and that nobody was around to notice them leaving the same front door. He never believed walking to the Fort could prove such an ordeal. At every smallest sound, his head would whip this way and that, his eyes travelling down shadowy lanes, and up at drawn windows, then behind his shoulder every other moment as he quickened his pace whilst trying not to make too much noise with his hurried steps. James massaged his brow with his fingers and shook his head. It was early still, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the men were still in their beds. Sitting down at his desk, he thought about meeting with Captain Hunt and the formal introduction to his most capable and trustworthy lieutenant. He glanced at the window again, saw the dark greyness still enveloping the grounds of the Fort, and suddenly wanted to take another look at the new frigate. Rising from his chair, he shrugged back into his coat and picked up his hat.

Andrew was pacing aimlessly upon the battlements when he found him. The lieutenant was exchanging words with a watcher, who was nodding his head and attempting to stifle a yawn, which he then apologised for afterwards. Andrew looked less broody. James figured he must have sorted the problem with the pins. The air blew over their heads in a warm and steady breeze, which suddenly lifted enough to stir their hats. Andrew’s managed to fall off his head, and he turned around; when he stooped his wig didn’t drop off, and when he looked up, it was to scowl at James’s attempt to hide a smile of amusement. He turned his heels before the soldier noticed his presence, and trusted Andrew to come and find him later.

“What did you say was the name of the French frigate captured by Captain Hunt, sir?”

“The Confiant,” James looked up towards her masts. “She carries twenty-six nine-pounder long guns on a single, covered deck. The Adamant has twenty-eight twelve-pounders, plus six six-pounders up upon quarterdeck and the forecastle.”

“A fifth-rate, then, sir.”

“A handsome one, too.”

“She is,” Andrew squinted towards the ship’s quarterdeck, imagining himself stood amongst the company of Captain Hunt and the two other lieutenants. Come to think of it, he hadn’t spent much time around the men during their first arrival at Port Royal. He only knew their names, Lieutenant Wilson and Lieutenant Fry. Since the latter appeared in his memory as the elder of the two, with a clearly weather-worn appearance suggestive of a large number of years spent at sea, Andrew guessed his own position would probably figure between the two lieutenants in terms of seniority. He couldn’t help wondering whether his own recent experience of fighting deadly pirates combined with supernatural forces should in fact place him before his senior, but the Pearl had moved on, taking with her the strange aura of surrealism; she became the stuff of dreams, like another myth of the seas. And since the normal every-day demanded the use of strict rules and systems with certain traditional codes which must be adhered to, Andrew supposed settling as second-lieutenant would only be quite reasonable. Come another few years, and who would remember their men’s tales about battling a skeleton army aboard the Dauntless as stuff of truth, and not the mad ravings of some deranged poet. It just didn’t quite fit in with the context of the times, although Andrew still believed, deep down, that it remained impossible to know every corner of the deep blue; somewhere, somehow, God was spinning their old wives tales into living flesh.

“I shall miss you.”

Andrew smiled as he listened to the gentle waves lapping at the Adamant’s sides, but said nothing. James remained gazing up at the tallest point of the ship, hands clasped behind his perfectly straight back, eyes beginning to squint as though he had suddenly caught sight of topmen already at work. The wooden platform creaked beneath them, and Andrew glanced around carefully. Morning was finally beginning to settle, and the skies began to break open with its first rays of brilliant light, welcomed by the early gull’s call. Andrew stepped a little closer until their arms almost touched. His hand inched out just enough to brush against the other’s.

“Look on the sea and think of me," he said quietly. "As I shall of you.”

“Did you find that in an old volume of poesy?" said James dryly. Andrew clasped his hands together with an indignant snort, feeling the prick of heat upon his face and another upon his pride.

“Look on those blasted pins of yours then-"

“I shall.”

“You are ridiculous,” Andrew scoffed but glanced over and saw the faint smile on James’s lips, a half wistful, half worried look in his eyes; he couldn’t quite decide which. He turned his eyes back upon the Adamant, saw the morning’s light beginning to illuminate her every line.

“James.”

“What is it.”

“Don't do anything unseemly in my absence.”

"Unseemly."

"You heard."

Andrew felt himself flush up to his hairline at the sound of James’s low, placating chuckle. He felt his jaw tensing and lowered his head.

"You laugh at me."

"Nonsense."

"Amuse yourself now, but the last laugh belongs to me," he said as he lifted his chin and met James's gaze from the corner of his eye.

"And just how is that fair?" asked James as he looked away again to squint at the ship.

"How do you mean?"

"I've said once already I don't mind you having a wife at each port."

Andrew watched the water as his eyebrows drew into a knot.

"It's different now..."

"Is it?"

"Forget it," he said briskly, straightening his back. "If it's your pleasure to meet me at the same level of common debauchery, go ahead, have as many as you wish. However."

He turned his head and met James in the eye.

“I had you first, and I shall have you last, James Norrington, don’t you forget it.” 

James frowned and opened his mouth; but nothing came out. No witticism, no dry retort. There was a pause as they watched each other without a word. Then Andrew broke into a grin and touched his hat before turning on his feet to stroll away.  
 

“Here they come, sir.”

James turned his head and felt the breeze whipping past the crest of his cheek. The governor’s words faded away and they all stood in silence for a moment, collectively watching the glorious horizon. Not a cloud or even the speck of a bird marred the vivid blue sky. The sun was a lone companion of the heavens, under which the entire sea reflected and scattered amongst each of its cresting waves the white hot glare of its brilliance. Accepting the glass held out to him, James passed it on to Weatherby, and squinted at the dark shape coming their way.

“Modelled on the French, you say?” the governor pointed the periscope towards the advancing company.

“But better,” James felt his lips curl, and looked at the lieutenant stood at his side, “A handsome addition to our forces, wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant Gillette?” The man’s head whipped back from the sight, and he met Andrew’s excited gaze.

“Inarguably, sir,” he smiled, and turned his attention upon the approaching ship.

Officers and sailors alike crowded the bay, each man wanting to take a good look at the new curiosity. Lieutenant Groves strode up to Andrew, and they heard Willis barking at others to get back to their jobs.

“What do they call her?”

“The Adamant.”

“Lieutenant Norton said she is adapted from the French.”

“But modified to our needs,” Andrew echoed the commodore, and Theodore looked impressed.

“A good size combined with what looks to be a good amount of firepower. Perhaps even a match to the Interceptor for speed.”

“We shall soon find out, Lieutenant Groves.”

“Indeed. And who is her captain?”

James folded his arms and leant his shoulder against the doorframe.

“How do you find Captain Hunt?” he asked, cocking his head to one side as Andrew stepped into the tub. He hissed at the heat of the water, before taking the edges of the bath and lowering himself into a sit. “I am surprised that all of your servants managed to find employment so soon,” James smiled wryly, and Andrew’s face reddened at the knowing tone, if not the temperature of the water.

“As am I,” he muttered, and started rubbing water over his arms, looking up, “Captain Hunt seems a very respectable man.”

“O yes,” James’s eyebrows lofted, “The man played a key role in the capturing of our French frigate, so I was told.”

“Impressive,” Andrew felt the raising of his own brows.

“Indeed."

“His crew must be a happy one,” said Andrew thoughtfully as he soaped beneath his arms, “I know I for one am always glad to be sailing alongside someone of capability.” Andrew grinned at the man lounging at the doorway.

“You are too kind,” came that droll little smile, and Andrew felt the corner of his own lip twitching that little more. James shifted his weight onto the other foot, and raised his gaze towards the ceiling. “How would you feel about joining the admirable Captain Hunt upon his next expedition,” he looked down and met Andrew’s look of surprise.

“I suppose I would have no reason to refuse...” he said simply, then felt his brow crinkling, “does the Captain lack a lieutenant?”

“Not exactly,” James itched his jaw, “but he has discussed with me some intentions to trade one of his, with another of…better experience, I believe was what he said.”

Andrew frowned as he gave the offer a second thought, and leant forwards to rest his arms upon his knees.

“But surely the Captain had endeavoured to select only the best to accompany him upon the journey from England?” he turned a palm at the other, but James didn’t look inclined to tell him all the small details.

“Perhaps the journey has raised issues which had hitherto gone unnoticed,” the man shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, “either way, we managed to conclude the negotiation quite promptly.”

Andrew sat quite still in the tub as he waited for him to finish. 

“As I have no reason to withhold some of my most capable men, it has been decided that Captain Hunt shall be joined shortly by yourself,” James smiled faintly at him.

“I am flattered," he said hurriedly, brow contorting, and saw James beginning to frown at his negative response, and added out of reflex, "...sir."

"But?"

“Forgive me for asking, but had you perhaps considered others, who are equally as-”

“Perhaps Lieutenant Willis was right after all, when he called your modesty a folly,” James took to scrutinising his person, and Andrew suddenly felt ridiculously exposed. He swallowed, pretending to ignore the comment, but held the other’s gaze.

“I simply wish to point out there are many who have gained much recently, in terms of experience and development, especially from our last-”

“Do you really think,” the voice hardened, “that that I am not aware of the improvements amongst my own men?” James’s gaze was severe, reminding him of his place, even if they were in the informal confines of his home.

“No...sir,” Andrew averted his gaze by fixing upon the fireplace, “forgive my impudence.” A quiet sigh, then no immediate response. Andrew felt droplets sliding off his arm and heard them dripping back into the water. The fireplace crackled, and he saw James pushing off the wooden frame from the corner of his eye.

“You must be aware that Lieutenant Groves shall soon be securing for himself, a means of furthering his position within the navy,” James said quietly in suggestion, but Andrew continued watching the flames.

“I believe marriage is not the answer to everything,” he replied stubbornly, but kept his voice submissive.

“No, indeed it is not, but the likelihood of it is more than what some can hope for.”

Andrew pressed his lips together tightly to refrain from saying anything foolish. Another sigh, and he heard the other’s shoes as he stepped into the room, but he spoke up again before they drew too close.

“...I prefer the likelihood of promotion to be based upon merit, rather than the currying of favour,” Andrew looked up and despite the reflected glimmer of the fireplace, James’s eyes were cold. “...or even worse, another man’s guilt...” he continued. Green eyes narrowed, but Andrew stood his ground.

“I agree that any form of advancement should always be based upon levels of merit, naturally,” James began slowly, “but you forget that this ideal is not always adhered to in practice, and that competition compels even friends to become potential enemies. So unless you wish to spend the reminder of your years watching those around you rise in position, I suggest you stop with your ridiculous show of modesty this instant.”

There was a horrid silence as James paused, and Andrew remained quiet.

“I see nothing unjust with providing those whom I judge capable with further chances to prove their abilities. It is in fact my responsibility to alert the attention of others upon suitable candidates. Many would jump at the opportunity of action, as I am sure deep down you yourself are.”

Andrew nodded stiffly.

“Then there are no further objections?”

He shook his head.

“Very well, then. I shall inform Captain Hunt of your decision."

Andrew nodded again, tried to look grateful instead of indifferent, knowing either way James had already decided for him.

“I look forward to meeting the Captain and the rest of his crew.”

“Indeed. I have heard that order is maintained flawlessly aboard the Adamant. Establishing a steadfast system of discipline is the good Captain's forte. You shouldn't have any trouble getting on with the crew. I'm sure you shall be impressed,” James’s voice softened, and he smiled faintly at the fireplace. Andrew watched the figure stood so contemplatively, one hand bracing the wall near the stone mantelpiece. For a strange moment he felt as though they were still at Fort Charles. The soap slipped out of his hand and plopped back into the water. He frowned at the inappropriateness of the sound, then frowned even more for thinking in that way; this was his home, not a formal meeting. He wasn't quite sure what to make of having to keep up with titles and such formalities when it was just the two of them speaking. Still, the showing and giving of respect was routine enough for officers and sailors alike, and essential for marking out rank. So what if you became romantically involved with someone of title when you yourself belonged in the hierarchy, what then? How was one supposed to keep a balance?

“ May I ask what is the purpose of the expedition?”

“Word came about that one of our sloops have scouted a foreign brig travelling out of her bounds,” James drummed his fingers but remained watching the fire. "The order is to block her, but as we do not currently have any ships close to her range...the brigs which were out on patrol recently, have returned to dock for repairs...therefore the Adamant shall be sent out on its way again shortly. Captain Hunt was eager to take on the assignment as soon as he'd heard..."

“It shall be a chance to test the efficiency of the new frigate.”

“Precisely,” James turned to look at him, and he smiled as convincingly as he could.

Andrew padded silently across the landing, stopping in the doorway as he saw James leaning against his desk, reading one of his letters. His mood was not in the least improved by the sight of his commanding officer poking his nose into his personal matters, even if they were of a mundane and domestic nature.

“So I am to be caught red-handed,” he said mildly, folding his arms. James smiled and set down the paper before resting his hands back upon the desk. “I was going to send them out once the house became too much to bear,” he glanced around him, “And then I shall be forced to beg their return.”

“At least we can talk freely without worrying about the presence of others,” James tilted his head slightly, “Even if it does cost you a little in terms of good house-keeping.”

“I daresay a capable man of my position can handle both his duty and look after his house,” Andrew snorted, “And it is you who has cost me the chance of imprisoning some unfortunate female with the task of maintaining my four walls.”

“And has this cost gained you much in return?” James chuckled.

“I have yet to find out, but I shall report to you immediately as soon as I do,” he replied sardonically, unfolding his arms as he strode towards the chair in which his clothes lay haphazardly tossed.

“You seem frustrated,” he heard the other murmur as he rummaged through the pile for his shirt.

“Perhaps I am,” he muttered, pulling on a sleeve, “But I do apologise.” He tugged the garment up against his chest, and met the other’s gaze. “I suppose I ought to seek your permission first.” James pushed away from the desk and walked towards him. Andrew pulled the shirt over his head and turned back to the chair. Hands touched his sides, and he felt the press of James’s chin upon his shoulder.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You are tense,” the hands rubbed slowly along his ribs, and Andrew caught them, turning his face as he looked back at him.

“I have no reason to be,” he murmured and felt James’s sigh against his cheek.

“Is this to do with the Adamant?”

“Perhaps.”

“You are having second thoughts.”

“No,” Andrew shook his head and felt James’s arms winding around his middle to pull him closer, “only-"

Lips pressed warmly to his jaw, and he closed his eyes, leaning back against the body which cradled his own.

“Only?"

"...at times I find it difficult, not knowing who I am addressing...” he said quietly, slipping his hand over the other’s with a sigh, “you flip from one to the other so quickly that I-”

“You're not being very clear.”

“Beg pardon sir," Andrew frowned and pushed away, "how clear do you want me to be?"

“Why are you being so accusatory?” James frowned, “If you are unhappy about my decision, then say so. I’d much rather you came out with it instead of beating around what it is you really wish to say-”

“I don’t know what it is I wish to say,” Andrew flung his hands up and turned to face him, “but I know the air grew somewhat cold over our earlier conversation, and I can’t help feeling that you're only anxious to see me promoted because of your own guil-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James moved to sit down upon the edge of the bed.

“The fact that you won’t allow me to finish only confirms it!” Andrew leant his arm against the bedpost. “You are guilty of our entanglement because whilst you have reached more or less a place where you are happy to remain, if not exceed in the future, you worry that my own career shall be impeded upon by my indifference to marriage," he stopped gesturing with his hand and pressed it to his side. "But I fail to believe that marriage is as essential to the means of furthering oneself as you make it seem, considering you yourself made your rank upon the basis of-”

“Whilst it is true," James cut in swiftly, "that I have not benefited from the interest of marriage myself, that does not mean that I am henceforth severed entirely from its advantage.” Hard green eyes looked up and met his gaze. “There are other means of gaining notice, and for me that had been achieved partly through capability, but partly, also, through the virtue of having just the right relations who can be relied upon to say just the right words into the ear of some cousin or in-law, who happens to work within the Admiralty.” Andrew waited as James took a breath before continuing. “And as I am aware that you have no relations of this manner, or at least to my current knowledge-”

“But I may do, in the future.”

“And how long are you prepared to stand around waiting for that possibility?”

“Well I have made it thus far, haven't I?" Andrew studied the bedpost. "It’s not always about interest.”

“No, I agree, but I have seen many good men languishing from the side whilst others, often of less capability, purchase their titles by means not so dissimilar to those which I have just specified-”

“James,” Andrew reached out and put his hand upon the other’s shoulder, “you don’t have to raise your voice. I understand and appreciate your concern, truly.” He gave him a squeeze and sighed softly. “And I've said I shall accept your offer of joining the Captain aboard the Adamant...rest assured, he shall only expect the best of my capabilities. I just don’t want you to feel as though you owe anything to me…”

James looked up at him silently. Andrew wet his lips, opened his mouth to say something else, but decided he had said quite enough for the evening. He leant his head back against the bedpost, and watched the other through lowered lashes. Slowly James rose to his feet and leant in towards him with a deep exhale, winding his left arm around the bedpost as he lowered his head to rest his brow against his; a tentative apology, perhaps, for taking liberties and making formal decisions without his consent.

“Know that I do not mean to be so cold…” he said quietly. Andrew slipped his hand upon James's nape and brought their faces close.

“Show me,” he whispered against his lips.

"Wait-wait a minute," James gasped, and Andrew lowered his head in frustration, chest heaving against the slick back beneath him.

"What is it?" he rasped as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He felt tense enough to break as he held still for a second.

"I'm not ready," said James as he heaved for breath. Andrew pressed down against his back and whispered roughly into his ear.

"Come James, we're not virgins still, stop being so petty-"

"I'm not," he grunted in response. "I'm just not ready."

"I find that hard to believe when my prick is halfway up your arse," Andrew murmured as he flicked his tongue at the back of his ear, but James wasn't giving in.

"Then take it out again."

"That's not what you want."

"I know what I want-"

"No, you don't," Andrew hissed against his ear before pulling out and thrusting in again. James cried out in surprise, and he gradually built a rhythm with his hips, using each stroke as a form of forceful persuasion. James trembled and grasped at the sheets, his groans ragged and weak.

"Please stop," he rasped as Andrew ignored his plea and reached below to touch him. Any further protests were silenced by Andrew's persistence.

"Your body says different."

Despite his jitters James couldn't deny this. They barely made a sound for the rest of it. James had his face buried into the pillow as Andrew rocked into his body. Even though he no longer struggled, they came apart and without any words. Andrew realised how hard he had been gripping onto the other's arms, and gradually let go to brush the hair from James's nape, pressing his lips into the dampness of his skin.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. James's murmur was muffled by the pillow. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and tried to rub away the red cresents he'd dug into James's arms.

“I'm tired..."

Slowly he rolled off and James turned away. Andrew watched his back for a second, before putting his hand on his waist and pulling up closer. He heard James sigh, and he tucked up against his back, listening to the steady rising and falling of his breaths. Weary, he soon drifted off, and dreamt vaguely of the Dauntless. When he opened his eyes again, James had turned over in his arms. Straining his eyes in the dark, he watched James's lips as they parted ever so slightly to breathe. He stroked James's nape and leant in close to press his lips against his brow.

"...when I return we must go away for a little while...back to England, where I can show you this wonderful place...I know that you will like it..." He felt the other's breath blowing gently against his lips, and he recognised the frown surfacing as James battled some unsettling dream. He made a guess at a moonlit deck, awash with blood as the night continued, stopping for nothing out in the vast and hostile stretches of the open sea. And he would be returning to it very soon. 

Joining the Adamant entailed its own measure of risk, whatever the number of experienced hands and minds. James knew that. It was expected of all men to rise to the challenge given the occasion, and Andrew was no different. It was his duty. And not so far off was James as he fretted over their careers, or whatever potential problem next to arise from out of their semi-established relationship. He would continue with his attempts to maintain some form of professional barrier between them; a safe guard behind which he could puzzle out the options, the right ways to go about handling a situation as slippery as their's. Obviously it was an absurd paradox, the idea of remaining professional when their bodies had transgressed thus far. But Andrew didn't want to challenge him too much. He knew it was part of his personality to try to sort things out rationally, and by the means of his own better judgement. Even if it meant sending Andrew away.

James murmured in his sleep, and Andrew didn't know why but he suddenly felt afraid. He clasped James so violently to himself that he started waking up. He heard and felt a confused muffle against his neck, but didn't let go, clinching as though it was he who was having the nightmare. Then James struggled and he eased his grip, meeting that troubled and questioning gaze. His chest heaved slowly and he saw James was about to speak and kissed him before he could. When James broke off to breathe he laid his hands on him, grasping frantically at anything and everything, snatching handfuls of his hair, tugging at his arms, his hips, prying at his thighs; he wanted to bury himself back into his body, wanted to know James needed him as much as he needed James, wanted to hear them gasping and groaning one another's names, wanted to be reminded of what it was to be alive.
 
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Sixteen
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: Letting her go.
Genre: Romance/sex
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.

Andrew frowned. Having battled the undead out in the horrifically vast sea it seemed now a little surreal to be back home. He folded the letters addressed to his servants into an envelope and then headed out to meet the others at the Crown.

Everybody was making merry and telling unlookers about their latest adventure. Andrew smiled and joined in, letting the pints warm him when nothing else could. Then he saw her again, and she sneaked over to touch his shoulder, asking him how he had been. The men didn’t seem to care so much, some just smirked knowingly before turning to the man beside him and re-telling them the story of the commodore leading them into battle. He brushed her hand away gently, but not before slipping a gold coin into her palm. She took his shake of the head for a yes, and stopped him when he tumbled out of the house hours later, giddy but sad. A hand pulled him into the alley from the rest of the company, and he felt his back against the brickwork, the air on his skin, then a warmth which enveloped him and made him think of James. When he opened his eyes she was watching him, and he wondered whether he could ever settle for this if not married life.

~+~

“Do you miss her?”

“Every Englishman misses his country.”

“You said you didn’t miss it so much now."

"No. Because I have you.”

Andrew pushed the voices to one side in his mind and turned his eyes away from the darkening slither of sky, still glowing ever so faintly between the half-drawn curtains of the bedroom window. He pressed his cheek to the softness of her hair, and closed his eyes with a quiet sigh. Fingers stroked softly against his chest, and he felt her shifting to press closer.

“You're being more romantic than usual tonight,” she chuckled lowly.

“You miss it, being away at sea," he murmured into her hair.

"I do hope you are not falling for me," she said teasingly, and he opened his eyes and looked down at her. "As much as I enjoy being fought between officers."

"I'm beginning to suspect you mistress to every man I know," he chuckled, and she slid down to lay her head in his lap.

"Yes, well," she said airily, shifting about to get comfortable, and he adjusted himself to accomodate her better. "Count yourself lucky that I'm in your bed tonight."

"I do hope you are not falling for me," said Andrew with a grin, and she closed her eyes with a snort.

"Falling for just the one is no fun at all," she scoffed. "You should know."

"I'm about to tell you a secret."

"Oh?" she said, with a curious look.

"You're the first I've had in a very long time."

"Hah!"

"You don't believe me?" asked Andrew as she picked herself up into a sit across him.

"Of course not," she said, tugging the edge of her smock (or rather one of his shirts that he had lent her to sleep in) back over one shoulder and narrowing her eyes at him. "You're an officer."

Andrew laughed and folded his arms up behind his head.

"It's true."

"I'm one out of a dozen of port-wives."

"Dear lord, I'm not that rampant!"

"How many."

"That is a man's secret."

"I thought we were sharing secrets," she said with a pout.

"I've said my goodbyes to many a port-wife."

"Is that so?"

"I'm down to just the one now," he said with a jolly grin. "Not as young as I used to be, I'm afraid."

"That's a lie," she snorted, leaning closer to him again upon her arms. "It can't be that good if you haven't been practicing."

Andrew laughed heartily, and she leant back.

"I charge extra for compliments, by the way."

"I never asked for one!"

"Too~ late," she sang.

"Bah," he grunted, grabbing the pillow beside him and tossing it at her. "Your rates are extortionate. I must find myself a new wife, so my pursestrings tell me."

"But not your heartstrings."

"My heartstrings are tired with overplaying," he said playfully still, yet unable to help his thoughts straying to someone he didn't want to think about. She sighed, looking askance and raised her hand to bite at a nail.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"You just reminded me of something a dirty peasant said to me," she muttered around her thumb.

"Aren't you quite used to handling dirty peasants?" he said jokingly, but she looked glumly at him.

"Do I look like a heartless wench to you?"

"He called you heartless? Why would he do that?"

With a sigh she flopped down on the bed and pressed her hands into her face, shaking her head.

"Because he was right, I am heartless, I didn't shed a tear when I heard about George, nor have I since, even though I wonder sometimes why we were never close, but then how could we be, really-"

"Who's George?" he asked, interrupting her tirade. She stopped shaking her head and sighed, looking at him.

"My brother."

"What happened to him?"

"Hung," she said, watching down at her hand as it laid against the creases of the bedsheets. "By the navy."

Andrew's lips parted before he knew the words. A chill descended on him all of a sudden, sending an outbreak of goosepimples all over his skin. The muscles in his throat seized tight, and he shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

"I sell my body for money, but I'm not heartless," she muttered.

"I'm...sorry about your brother," he finally said, a little hesitantly.

"Yes, well," she said with a sigh. "If it wasn't to be at sea, it would be for something foolish."

Andrew felt himself wincing, and was glad for the dimness of the room.

"But listen to me, how can you say I'm not hard-hearted, talking of my brother so off-handedly like that, granted we never got on, but I never would have wanted such a shameful end for him-"

"It is...most unfortunate," uttered Andrew, frowning when he realised he was repeating what James had said.

"In all honesty," she said, laying her head down as though weary against a hand. "I didn't react whatsoever when Willis mentioned George in some idle talk."

Andrew remained silent.

"Him and some mate of his...I didn't look horrified, or say anything on it, no...just laid in his arms not knowing quite how to feel."

He watched the top of her head, wondering if she knew she had laid with a man who was partly responsibly for her brother's death.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked, raising her head to look at him.

"I..."

"He punished George because he was a sinner. Now that he's gone, I wonder when it will be my turn to be judged..."

Andrew released a breath he had been holding and ran a hand through his hair as he glanced back at the window.

"I doubt you shall be, not for a very long time..."

For a moment she didn't say anything else, and he looked back to find her laying still with her face against her hand, her body tucked up into a foetal position. He felt unbearably awkward, wrong, and wished he hadn't gone to the Crown to begin with.

"That time you wept...there was something else, but I didn't tell you."

"How do you mean?"

She pulled herself up slowly and looked at him with a face void of expression.

"You were having a bad dream, and kept saying James."

Andrew heard himself snatching in a breath.

"I-"

"You mumbled many things, and I couldn't make sense of it all, but then you said-"

"What?"

"I love you, so much," she said, her staring eyes making him tense up all over. "Stay, James, please...stay."

"My brother," he uttered quickly. "He's young...inexperienced, wants to enlist but I warned him..." he carried on, wetting his lip under her unwavering gaze, and then looking away. "We all want him to stay at home, but he's so headstrong, he won't listen to us, even if we begged..."

He felt her hand on his arm and he almost jumped.

"You're not very good at lying," she said in a hushed voice, and he met her eye, unnerved by the intensity of her stare. His heart began to race, and he wondered if she could see the physical pounding of it in his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he denied, pulling his arm away from her warily.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said as he started getting out of the bed.

"What is there to tell?" he replied, keeping his face turned away.

"Drew, I know who James is," she said, a little more forceful this time, stopping him in his tracks.

"What?"

"He isn't your brother."

He swallowed and slowly perched against the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the floor.

"What else did you hear me say..."

"That was all."

He raised his eyes at her.

"James is my brother," he said slowly, carefully. She sighed and crossed her arms, looking up at the ceiling. "I can prove it to you."

"If it will keep you from running away this instant," she said, meeting him squarely in the eye. "Knowing you're-"

"What?"

"That you're-"

"If you have something to say, say it!" he demanded, voice defensive, almost angry as he pushed forcefully away from the bed.

"Oh stop it, I'm not judging you!" she cried, moving off the bed and standing up.

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"That I'm not threatening you, or wanting to blackmail you, or whatever it is you are thinking!"

He tried to calm himself, and sat down in the chair next to the window. Running both his hands into his hair, he shook his head and uttered quietly,

"What is it you want."

"Nothing," she said, sounding a little insulted. "I just wanted to say that when I first knew, when I was still holding you 'gainst myself whilst you were crying like a babe, I couldn't feel disgusted enough to leave."

He sighed heavily, but she carried on, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"The more I'm with you I feel as though we're like kindred spirits, you and I. We're not so different, and after they caught George, it made me think...well, just how we're all hiding something away from others, but we can't hide from God."

Andrew lowered his hands and shook his head.

"So what are you saying," he asked quietly, raising his head to look at her. She sighed and stroked the crumpled sheets with a hand, watching the bed.

"I enjoy our time together, and don't see why anything should change...It's comforting, somehow, knowing I'm not the only one damned-" 

He snorted abruptly and leant back in the chair.

"You think that's funny?"

"Not at all. I must either laugh or cry," he sighed.

"You can cry on my bosom all you like," she said. "If you'll let me cry on yours."

"What a pair we make," he said quietly. "You could make a fortune out of me..."

"Or I could surprise you as well as myself for being an honest whore."

"Is there such a thing?"

"I guess not...but I'm not heartless."

"Of course not."

They stopped talking, and she fell back against the bed with a heavy sigh.

"Oh George...you always were a fool..." she murmured wistfully.

Andrew closed his eyes and released a sigh himself.

"Aren't we all..."
 

~+~

“This is wrong.”

“Commodore Norrington is bound by the law. As are we all.”

James watched the scene grimly, listening to the argument between Elizabeth and Weatherby as though they were merely repeating the argument between himself and Andrew.

“And for these crimes you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Will Turner moved through the crowd to greet them.

“Governor Swann . Commodore. Elizabeth . I should have told you every day from the moment I met you.”

James knew what was coming, kept his eyes on the platform.

“I love you.”

“I can’t breathe”

The drums had started rolling, but the Governor turned, made a noise, and James turned his head, and chaos broke out.

“Move!”

God damn it, if the Turner boy can be brave enough to fight for what is right, why did he have to suppress it? For the sake of the public.

Cornered.

“I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt, but not from you.”

“On our return to Port Royal , I granted you clemency. And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He’s a pirate!”

“And a good man.”

James lowered his eyes for a second, then regarded both men steadily.

“If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear.”

Will’s words cut through his heart, and he hid his shame behind a wall of anger. Was Andrew around to hear those words?

“You forget your place, Turner.”

Why are you so damned noble?

“It’s right here…between you and Jack.”

Elizabeth left his side to stand beside Will, and James felt utterly out of place. He was the villain of the piece, sentencing the righteous, the real monster hiding beneath a gentleman’s robes.

“As is mine.”

It was all too much.

“Elizabeth ! Lower your weapons. For goodness’ sake put them down!”

He forgave her then, realised the wrong belonged to nobody but himself. Could she forgive him?

“So this is where your heart truly lies, then?

“It is.”

A weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he felt as though he could finally breathe.

“Well! I’m actually feeling rather good about this,” Sparrow leant towards the Governor, who turned his face away in disgust. James watched and realised he couldn’t bring himself to hate the man. “I think we've all arrived at a very special place, eh? Spiritually…Ecumenically…Grammatically?”

It was his turn to be addressed, and he frowned if only to keep down that curl to his lip. A comedic end seemed to have descended upon them.

“I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that.”

He could see straight through his words. Piracy was a cover-up for Sparrow, as much as a fool’s garb was an illusion for the true trickster.

“…it would never have worked between us, darling. I’m sorry. Will …nice hat. Friends! This is the day that you will always remember as the day that-”

James saw Andrew diving upon the battlements like the rest of them, and held his breath.

“Idiot. He has nowhere to go but back to the noose.”

That face looked back at him.

“What’s your plan of action? Sir?

He wanted to say something, but held back. There would be a better time for that.

The governor spoke up beside him.

“Perhaps on the rare occasion pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?”

Words were such a fickle thing. James wanted so much to smile, but restrained himself. The day was suddenly the most beautiful shade he had ever seen. Brighter, even, than on the day of his promotion. He had to bring a closure to the comedy, with the grace of the forgiving judge. The true hilarity laid in his actual inability to enforce morality upon anyone else. But he wanted to reunite the young lovers, if only to redeem part of his own guilt.

“Mr. Turner.”

“I will accept the consequences of my actions.”

He released an inward breath as he caught the younger man’s words. Come now, Turner, it is a comedy, not a tragedy. It was time for the true fool of the play to make his exit with a flourish, and he drew his sword, catching everyone’s attention.

“This is a beautiful sword. I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.”

“Thank you.”

His part had been played, and now it was time to go. Then he heard a voice.

“Commodore! What about Sparrow?”

James turned around, finally letting the smile slip, but only because it was Andrew.

“Well, I think we can afford to give him one day’s head start.”

"Andr-"

"Talk later."

James felt himself being pushed back against the door as Andrew kissed him, and he seized the lock, turned it, and grabbed at his uniformed shoulders. He shoved Andrew back against the desk then wrapped his arms around him, smothering his gasps with his mouth. Hands tugged at his coat, and he tried to shrug out of it as Andrew bit as his lower lip.

“Kept me waiting long enough,” he said breathily as James tossed his coat to the side and started helping him with his.

“I know,” James whispered before they locked lips once more.

Andrew finally freed himself from the heavy coat, letting it drop to the ground as James tugged his hips close and fumbled with the buttons on his breeches. Andrew bit his lip and groaned, planting his hands back against the desk as James sunk his hands past the waistband to clasp and knead the flesh of his buttocks. Andrew tugged loose his own cravat and James responded by kissing and sucking at the skin of his throat. His fingers sought James's breeches, ripping at the buttons and drawing out the stiff and swollen prick.

"You're always on my mind," James whispered against his jaw as he stroked his fingers over his entrance. Andrew released a shakey sigh at the touch and wrapped his own fingers tightly around James's flesh. "Your body," he continued to say, his eyes half-closing as he gazed heatedly at him. "It drives me mad..." 

Andrew wet his lips and stroked him faster. James began to thrust impatiently into his hand, his breath leaving him short and light.

"I pretend you're there in the shadows when I'm doing my rounds," Andrew murmured. "Waiting just around the corner-" he suddenly broke off with a groan as James pushed his fingers into him. Arching backwards, he bucked to the thrusting digits, panting harder as they brushed closer each time to his most inner being. James buried his face into his neck and whimpered as Andrew's grip on him quickened and grew more urgent.

"What happens," he rasped against his skin, grunting and gasping as Andrew writhed against him.

"You ravish me against a wall," Andrew panted, lips open with his heavy breaths. "Piercing me to the quick..."

James's eyes were narrowed as he gave Andrew a quick once-over.

"Remove your breeches," he commanded. They stopped for a moment as Andrew complied, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning the garment properly before sliding them down his legs. James stepped on the bunched material and kicked it aside as Andrew gripped the edge of the desk and slid up onto its surface. 

"Come here," Andrew whispered as he leant back invitingly on his elbows. James slid his hands onto his bared thighs, marking the way his chest rose and fell erratically before his eyes finally fell upon his engorged prick. Andrew was watching him closely, his gaze sultry and empowering yet submissive all at once. "Show me what you think about," he breathed, spreading his knees open. James felt his lips parting wordlessly as his eyes sought then lingered lustily upon the tender ring of puckered flesh. Andrew slid a hand down his own chest, over his stomach, carrassed his angry prick on passing and stopped to stroke his fingertips slowly over his entrance with a suppressed sigh; James drew in a breath at the same time.

~+~

With one last push he finally spent himself with a shudder. As he sank upon the other's heaving body he saw Andrew's lips pulling slowly into a wickedly lopsided smile.

“Gods,” James laughed breathlessly, clasping one sweaty hand against his cheek. Andrew turned his face to kiss his palm as he slowly lowered his legs from James's shoulders and began with a grimace to push himself up into a sit. James pressed close again, one hand stroking at his thigh to ease the jittering. 

For a while they remained in the same position, listening to the renewed tranquilly of the cabin. They had waited until the Fort had cleared to the sound of men's feet making towards their homes, or those which marched straight on to the local public house for a good stiff drink now that the day was drawing to yet another close. The Dauntless was unnaturally quiet when they approached her, and neither of them noticed anyone looking on as they boarded; even if the watchmen were vigilant, they probably wouldn't have thought much of two respectable officers returning to the ship. 

Past the frames of the windows, the evening sky was a dark stroke of black upon blue, smothering the remains of the day with a comforting calm which spoke of rest. Andrew dropped his head to lean against James’s chest, sighing heavily. James moved his hand to massage the back of Andrew's neck, rubbing his fingers into the finer hairs there, matted with sweat. Releasing a contented sigh of his own, something came back to him from the past, an obscure memory he could not recall in full, and he started to hum as arms wrapped slowly around his waist.

“What song is that?” Andrew murmured.

“I don’t remember," he said. "But it can be yours if you wish.”

Andrew raised his head with a grimace.

“You know...I was not entirely alone the other evening.”

“And you know that I don’t mind...”

“Yes, but her brother...she told me he was one of the hanged men.”

James paused and leant back slowly, watching Andrew's face with an unsure expression, as if searching for truth behind his words. He pressed a palm to the side of Andrew’s face, thumb brushing against his cheek as his gaze lowered with his beginning withdrawal; the return of contradiction chased away instantly what joys they had just shared. For they were nothing but flimsy pleasures compared to the truth of condemnation, no matter how much he tried lying to himself. To have made an example of the two men was a hollow gesture if the authorizer himself was corrupt. He supposed that was the essential difference between men like them and so-called true aristocrats; it seemed the rich could afford to hide their own crimes. They alone could always stand aloof from the dirt, go on to lie to themselves and still sleep well at night. So what the devil was wrong with him, then?

“If that is true," he said after a moment, voice quiet and contemplative. "Perhaps you ought not to see her again..." It was an obvious thing to say, but he didn't want to voice those things whirling in his mind straight out; his claims of fate being a justice-bringer by making sure they all got caught back in their own filthy webs, of not ever allowing them to forget what wrongs they had commited.

“Don't look so morose, James," murmured Andrew, and James shut the door of the voices before he ended up railing. "She wasn't upset. Said she actually pitied fools like us-”

"What?" James interrupted, feeling his brow beginning to crease. He brought his hand away and rested them upon the edge of the table instead. "Us?”

“When she said we're all damned, I thought it was the most truthful thing I had heard in a long time-”

He gripped Andrew's shoulders with both his hands and stared into his face.

“Andrew, does she know?”

“I...”

"But how? what did you say?"

"I never said anything, she must have heard me talking in my sleep-"

“Oh for god sake, Andrew. What did you do, make a confession?”

“Look, I don't know what exactly, or how much I said, but she told me it wasn't in her interests-"

"Not in her interests. Andrew, the woman is a whore-"

"A whore I know, James. I know what she is like, and she won't do anything rash."

"How much does she know?"
 
"I don't know. Not everything."

"Did she tell you what you'd said?"

Andrew sighed and pushed him away enough so he could stand.

"She said I used the name James once or twice."
 
James flinched and raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, the spot where a throbbing sensation was beginning.

"Look it's a very common name-"
 
James said nothing.

"I feared at first that she was plotting blackmail, but she wasn't in it for the money. It's hard to explain my own gut feelings, but I know she isn't someone I need to feel threatened by."

James shook his head, turning his face to look at him.

“So that's it, you just assume that she won't-"

“Yes, I do," said Andrew, voice a little harsher, a little louder. But the look in his eyes told James he was trying to remain calm, to refrain no doubt, from becoming the first one to start a heated argument. "So please," he raised both his hands. "No more questions, I know what I am doing.” James turned his face away and watched down at the desk and his tense fingers digging into its surface.

“Fine," he said, releasing a long, noisy sigh, trying like the other to keep his cool. "So long as you remain safe for now...”

“As are you from that more terrible sentence," Andrew muttered as he folded his arms and leant against the edge of the table. James glanced at him, and Andrew turned his eyes upwards. "Well I consider marriage to be worse than the noose. And somebody here had almost fallen straight into it with no better sense than a coney for a carrot."

James stepped over to him, slipping an arm around Andrew's side. Brown eyes watched him askance, and James exhaled quietly, knowing that he had not perhaps reacted in the best of ways.

"Forgive me," he said, and Andrew turned his head towards him. "Fear can sometimes drive one into the worst choices."

"What am I here for, you fool," Andrew chided him quietly. "If not to keep you from making them in the first place..."

James let the smallest smile grace his lips, and he brought his hand up to touch Andrew's folded arms.

"Then I guess I must never let you out of my sight."

"Too right," scoffed Andrew as he rolled his eyes and finally unfolded his arms to wind one around James's waist. "Keep you from sniffing after that biggest, most rottenest carrot in the whole of Port Royal..." he said as James brought his face closer. "Now hum that tune again," he murmured, turning to lean into James's embrace. "I like it."

"You know...perhaps you ought to keep seeing her," said James. Andrew leant his head back to frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, if you kept up good relations between the two of you..."

"You want me to become friends with my whore."

"If you have good relations between you, she may not want to-"

"Hurt me."

"Yes."

"She won't, James."

"You don't know for sure."

"Can we ever know anything for sure?"

James hesitated, and Andrew let his head fall backwards with a heavy sigh.

"Just trust me James. I can never be sure you won't leave me on second thought, yet I still choose to trust you," he said. "She only has a name. As far as our liason goes, you're not in any danger...and even if she did speak against me, you know I wouldn't ever pull anyone else down."

"Don't say that," said James, suddenly clasping him close. "Just stay close to me."

"Been doing that for the past few years, sir, and I don't plan on having it any other way."


 

“Would you pass the butter, please?”

“Thompson, more water.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr Gillette.”

“What?”

“The butter, if you please.”

“Well there’s no need for that tone of voice, Mr Willis.”

“I do apologise. I get frustrated when people keep me from my butter.”

“O really.”

“Gentlemen, I’m sure there’s enough to be frustrated about without railing over breakfast.”

“Is that so? Well do share with us, Mr Groves.”

“Don’t encourage him, Mr Willis, I don’t think I could bear it at this hour-”

“Well there’s no need for that…”

“Don’t look hurt Mr Groves, I am in a foul mood this morning, so forgive me, I did not mean it.”

“Hmm.”

“For God sake, would you men stop bickering like women over there? I am trying to eat!”

“Beg pardon, Mr Norton.”

“Really though, you ought to stop being a grouch and join in-"
 
"Hah! Much thanks, but I'd rather not Mr Willis, not all of us like to eat and talk at the same time, lest one preferred choking-"

"It's the only time of the day when we can afford to be idiots. A man is a bore if he needs silence to masticate.”

Andrew started coughing violently as the tea went down the wrong way.

“What is the matter with you?” Theodore started thumping on his back.

“Would you stop mollycoddling me, I am quite alright,” he snapped, and the other man raised his eyebrow before turning coolly back to his breakfast.

“My, the man’s truly in a foul mood today. I’d advise you all to steer well clear of Lieutenant Gillette, lest you like the idea of being run through,” Willis chuckled, tearing his toast as he watched him with amusement.

“O don’t you know it,” Andrew grinned and gestured with his cup at the other, but Willis ignored his sarcasm and returned the gesture. His grey gaze remained on him as he drank his tea, and Andrew held it, ready for any more of the man’s stupid witticisms.

~+~

“Dear god, the woman is making me feel most uncomfortable.”

Andrew turned his eyes upwards, ignoring the officers’ murmurings.

“Whatever happened to her dress, I wonder.”

He cleared his throat and glanced back over his shoulder at Lieutenant Willis and Lieutenant Norton, scowling at the latter’s shrug of indifference, and bristling at the former’s wink. He watched the figures of Weatherby and James below them, then the slender one of Miss Swann, finding himself regard her with a harsh and critical eye. She reminded him of a barnacle, and hoped that the commodore would be cut by those sharp edges once he had her clasped against his breast.

“I prefer a woman who can eat,” he found himself muttering, and heard the stifling of a snicker.

“Well the poor girl was held captive by pirates after all.”

“Though they must have kept her healthy on something. Look at her go…”

“And that Sparrow looks rather chirpy, wouldn’t you say?”

Andrew stepped away from the lewd comments and listened in on the conversation below.

“But we’ve got to save Will!”

Noble, but stupid. She was far better suited to the blacksmith, he thought as he glanced at their commanding officer. But maybe James needed someone brave enough to slap some sense into him. He snorted to himself, and carried on watching.

“No. You’re safe now. We will return to Port Royal immediately, not go gallivanting after pirates!”

Andrew grimaced at the governor’s words; going home was the last thing he wanted. He’d much prefer to stay at sea, now that there was nothing really to return to. The thought of his empty house did not appeal one bit. He’d have to write to his servants, asking them to return and be the good company they could be, even if it was just a bustling body in the background. Right now he welcomed all the distraction he could get.

“Then we condemn him to death.”

“The boy’s fate is regrettable, but, then, so was his decision to engage in piracy.”

“To rescue me! To prevent anything from happening to me!”

He sighed inwardly, clasping his hands tighter behind his back. The lieutenants were quietly listening behind him; even they could not deny the heroism behind the whole fiasco. If he was Elizabeth, he would probably feel the same. He couldn’t imagine anyone sacrificing so much for himself. His eyes lowered and he fought the pang. When he glanced up again, the pirate was tempting them now.

“It’s very unlikely she’ll be able to make good time. Think about it. The Black Pearl. The last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate. How can you pass that up?”

It’s no good, Sparrow, the commodore is more frigid than the ice-caps, you’ll never be able to sway him. Andrew realised he was letting his emotions steer him away from his rationality, and dispensed with his grudge.

“By remembering that I serve others, Mr. Sparrow, not only myself.”

He was proud of the man, of course, for such a show of duty. Pity he wasn’t capable of loyalty outside of the navy. There he goes again. Andrew frowned and checked himself mentally as James began to ascend the stairs. But he saw Elizabeth gain chase.

“Commodore I beg you, please do this, for me. As a wedding gift.”

James stopped and turned his head. Andrew felt his heart dropping down to his feet. The entire ship seemed to fall quiet, as though collectively working to build up suspense. Oh he felt sick to the stomach.

“Elizabeth, are you accepting the commodore’s proposal?”

He looked at James, trying to read into that expression. Was he still hoping for the same thing after all this time? After last night?

“I am.”

“A wedding! I love weddings…drinks all around!”

He let his face harden into a look of indifference whilst a horrific mixture of jealousy and hurt shot through his entire person. James’s each descending step seemed to echo his own descent into a pitiful void. The chase was finally over.

“I know. Clap him in irons, right?

“Mr. Sparrow , you will accompany these fine men to the helm and provide us with the bearing to Isla de Muerta . You will then spend the rest of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase silent as the grave. Do I make myself clear?”

“Inescapably clear.”

Andrew watched them lead Sparrow away, the pirate’s last words leaving a haunting effect on him.

~+~

“Sorry, but it’s for your own safety.”

As sick to death as I am over the concept.

“Coward! The commodore ordered – I have to tell him! The pirates! They’re cursed! They cannot be killed!”

“Don’t worry, miss, he’s already informed of that. A little mermaid flopped up on deck and told him the whole story.”

Andrew closed the doors and turned back to his men. He knew it had been childish, but he couldn’t help it.

~+~

He heard the bell tolling, and growled; he should have known better!

“Move!”

The men started rowing back towards the Dauntless, but the damned pirates were using his own ship to shoot at them. Blasts fell short of his own boat, each one flaring anger within him. When they finally reached her, they climbed up and straight into a nightmare he could barely begin to describe. He hardly had the chance to take a breath before a fiend locked eyes with him, and began moving towards his way. Without hesitation he pulled his pistol and shot the man-thing-monster, and heard a ghastly battle cry-

“Come on!”

As he drew his sword, he noticed a man falling from the corner of his eye, and whipped his head round to see Lieutenant Hunt being attacked and stabbed to death by two demons. Not Andrew. Not Andrew. Sweat trickled down his back beneath his shirt, but he tightened his grip and clashed blades with his opponent. Please God, not Andrew.

~+~

For a moment the madness stopped, and the ghostly vision began to melt away into the forms of men. Andrew finally caught sight of the commodore, unharmed and still on his feet, god be praised. Then he jumped as he felt a foul body falling against him, and pushed it away so that it fell, like many others, against the bloodied deck. But the relief of victory washed over the ones still standing.

“The ship is ours, gentlemen.”

They all broke into huzzahs, and the Governor came out to join them. Andrew felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Lieutenant Willis gasping for his breath, a river of blood trickling down the side of his face.

“Mr Gil-” he began, but started to fall, and Andrew cursed as he caught him.

“I need help!”

~+~

The man barely grimaced as the surgeon finished up on his stitches. He grabbed his hat and gave his word of thanks before making way for the next patient; a sailor who grunted with each step, supported by another as he limped his way up.

“Thank you for your help, Mr Gillette,” Willis donned his hat as they walked past the wounded, waiting for their turn.

“Not at all,” Andrew replied, eyes scanning across the causalities. Lieutenant Groves and Lieutenant Norton strode their way, the former rubbing his brow with a troubled frown.

“To think we were up against demons!”

Andrew remembered Elizabeth’s warning and flushed.

“Yes, well we still bloody beat them,” Norton harrumphed, wincing as he heard a man’s cry of pain under the hands of Mr. Phillips.

“I can’t wait to go home and leave this cursed place,” Andrew shook his head, and felt Willis’s hand clap his shoulder.

“I agree. You never know what may come next in this part of the world.”

“At least most of us shall be returning to our wives. God bless the poor devils who didn’t make it…”

Andrew walked with the rest of them, but would rather have stayed in this part of the ship, if only so the men’s groans would block out those unwanted voices in his head.

~+~

Once most of the crew had been tended to, orders passed round that the commodore desired to dine with the lieutenants and other officers in the great cabin. Andrew poked his head through the door, and a silver pitcher was shoved into his face.

“What-” he straightened up and saw Lieutenant Willis grinning at him.

“Your water.”

“Many thanks,” he took the pitcher, “How is your head?”

“Marvellous.”

“Dear god, will you stop fidgeting? I cannot work if you insist on moving so!”

They looked over and saw Theodore attempting to tie Lieutenant Norton’s cravat, the man having received some minor wounds to his right hand, disabling him against the task of minor trivialities. But they all knew their commanding officer was a perfectionist, and being gentlemen themselves, took pride in their appearance. Still, all the fussing made Andrew impatient.

“You have blood on your face-” he jerked back at the touch and stared at Lieutenant Willis, then at the hand raised towards his face. “You should be careful with that razor of yours,” the man grinned, before tugging at the white cloth hanging around his neck and turning away. Andrew rubbed at his chin with a frown, and returned to his basin.

~+~

They had so many toasts, Andrew was feeling rather giddy before they even started on the food. He thanked the gods once more for blessing their dinner with the absence of Miss Swann.

“To the Dauntless and her commanding officer!” cried Lieutenant Norton, and they all raised their glasses with a cheer. James was smiling, and his green eyes sparkled to the lantern light. The atmosphere grew all the more pleasant with the commodore relaxed amongst his company, and gracing the table with his elegant pleasantries. There was less of the dry comments, and more of a general sharing of good humour combined with the afterglow of victory. The smell of food wafted into the air, and the stewards fell about them with silver dishes laden with sumptuous meats. Every man was enjoying conversation with somebody else, whether they sat beside him, across him, at an angle, and James himself was engrossed with some small talk with the Governor who sat to his immediate right. Marriage plans, no doubt.

“To the commodore,” he cried abruptly, arm jerking into the air, “And the future Mrs. Commodore.”

Weatherby looked pleased, and raised his glass with approval. He met James’s gaze, and grinned until the muscles in his face cramped.

“Thank you, Mr Gillette.”

After the first two words he tossed back his drink and turned to his food. Lieutenant Gillette, one amongst many.

As they lingered in the spacious cabin for the after-meal beverage, Andrew found himself rooted to the spot, staring at the couch. It had been pushed back against the wall to make space, and left no trace whatsoever of the previous night. Did James clean the thing, or send for one of the boys? Maybe none of it had happened, and Andrew had simply dreamt it all. Remembering those last words before he left, certainly made him wish it had been just another of his self-made illusions.

“Mr Gillette,” he turned his head at the voice and found Lieutenant Willis stepping towards him. His steel-grey eyes were glinting with that warm satisfaction liquor left in the blood-stream, and his cheeks had gained an uncharacteristic ruddiness.

“You stand like a Grecian statue,” he teased, and Andrew decided banter would prove a saving distraction, and stop him from looking nervously around the room for the commodore.

“I consider my physique as dropping short of perfection,” Andrew laughed, and so did Willis, who twirled his glass and lifted it to his nose.

“How modest of you.”

“Have you come across such artwork before?”

“No. But I have heard about the nude figures. A voyeuristic lot, the Greeks, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps we simply see things differently,” Andrew raised his glass and took a long sip of the amber liquor; one of James’s best. “Our culture is obsessed with propriety after all.”

“Indeed. Shall we sit?”

Willis began striding towards the couch before Andrew could protest, and swallowing the knot in his throat, followed after him.

“Ah, now this is a fine piece of craft,” Willis groaned as he leant back. Andrew kept sipping, feeling the heat.

“Yes, it’s very well made...”

“I must thank you again for your help earlier.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Without your help I fancy I would have fallen and bled to death before the men noticed. So busy as they were with their huzzah-ing-”

“Duty compels me to act, Mr Willis.”

“You seemed eager to congratulate the commodore.”

“I am happy for him, for them,” Andrew gripped unconsciously at the edge of the furniture.

“Indeed, though I must say,” Willis’s smooth baritone dropped to a hushed murmur beside him. “It has been my experience that marriage is not the answer to everything.”

How very true. He looked at Willis, and the man looked back. The usual coolness of his gaze had softened into a sort of sleepiness.

“I did not know you are a married man.”

"Yes, well, I prefer not to talk about it," Willis chuckled and turned his face away. When he looked back, his eyes fell upon the couch before raising to regard Andrew in a way which made him shift uneasily in his seat. “I find that propriety can be such a burden at times. Don't you agree?"

Andrew stared despite himself, and then frowned, not knowing that Willis was trying to say. He was about to open his mouth, when he felt another presence adding to their company. Without lifting his head, he saw the elegance of fingers and the frills of a sleeve, and blushed deeply. He stopped leaning upon his knees and leant back slowly, only just managing to look up.

“Commodore.”

He heard Willis making a similar greeting from beside him, and suddenly wanted to stand, but couldn’t.

“Mr Gillette. You fought well today, and aided a fellow officer when he was in need. Well done."

The smile was warm, but Andrew found it a little difficult to separate the commodore with the James from the night before.

“I would expect each man to do the same for his brethren, sir. I was merely serving my duty.”

“So would say modesty is his folly, sir,” an arm draped around his shoulders. “Isn’t that right, Mr Gillette?”

“Well I-”

“Modesty is a virtue, Mr Willis.”

That smile again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, whose gaze had now fallen upon the glass in his hand. Andrew stood up to free himself from Willis and cleared his throat as he straightened up into a respectable, albeit rigid poise.

“Commodore, a man shall become proud with so many compliments,” he tried, and sure enough James chuckled. A soft little sound, which somehow sent another pang through him.

“I doubt that you could ever be proud, Mr Gillette.”

“I am proud to be under your command, sir.”

James faltered, mouth opening, then closing again. He had him now. But what was he supposed to say?

“And I wish you all the best.”

“I do believe our glasses are empty,” James turned to stop one of the stewards by the arm. “Roberts, more wine for these gentlemen.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy left and James put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder with a sad smile. He was about to say something, but then held back, and Andrew clenched his hands into fists to stop them from doing something foolish. The room, full of men’s murmurings and laughter, and the clinking of glasses, suddenly became claustrophobic.

“Perhaps, sir, you would care to take some air?”

He knew he was staring too intensely at the other, but James pretended not to notice.

“That would be wonderful, Mr Gillette.”

Andrew felt himself smile in relief.

“Though I must speak some words with Governor Swann...I shall meet you up on quarter deck?”

All he could do was nod. James turned away, and Andrew realised his heart was pounding.

~+~

The night was the most splendid shade of navy, broken through here and there with patches of fading light. He could hear the odd voice now and again as men continued to tend to the Dauntless. Andrew inhaled a deep lungful of the warm, salty breeze gliding across the dark waters, and smiled at the wondrous expanse of the sea. He was thinking that even if James married, it wouldn’t change the way things operated within the navy. The men would still be taking his orders, and he and the other lieutenants would be doing what they always did, if not attempting to secure a better position for themselves. He was happy with his, though. Standing beside the commodore was enough for him, he nodded to himself, but the voice of doubt was relentless. For how long could you stave off your feelings, and when night comes, how will you fend off those cruel arms of jealously, when you have nobody else to clasp to your own breast?

“Andrew...?”

He gasped and turned, suddenly torn, and feeling as though the better part of him had tossed his attempts to hold back far into the waters below. James saw the panic in his eyes, and hurried up to him.

“What is the matter...?”

“You know very well what the matter is,” he hissed before he could help himself, and turned to grasp the rail to calm the rising fury. “I apologise. I am being dramatic.”

“Andrew-”

“But you cannot blame me, really, considering you have quite thoroughly broken my hopes, and rejected my love, but I am glad that at least one of us shall gain something out of this. And don’t give me none of that talk on us, or what it will do for us, because there is no us. Come to think of it, you are monster, James, you really are. You accept my love, but then refuse to give anything back! You tease me, and lead me into your arms, before casting me aside once the prospect of marriage comes dancing along again,” he stopped to breathe, chest heaving, head lowering. “Am I not right?” He looked over his shoulder, trembling all over with anger, with hurt, and saw the man he loved coming to the rail.

“I watched an officer being killed today..."

Andrew heaved a sigh and relaxed enough to listen. James’s voice was calm, tragically so; it seemed to be speaking of all the sadness in the world.

"I had never been so driven by fear in my entire life... Fear that it was you, that anything could be happening on the other side of the Dauntless... Fear of not knowing where you were...”

"I was afraid too..." he said quietly, and felt James's eyes on him.

“...when you left last night," his voice was soft, "I felt as though the most precious thing in the world had been taken from me. And I felt it again during the fight..."
 
Andrew remained silent and turned his eyes upon the distant waters.

"Each time I fall asleep, the same old nightmare returns and I ask myself, when will it stop? But it won't, because it's not just a battle which ends and we all know the outcome clear as day..." he sighed and looked out to the sea, "I just know that I’ll still be worrying about you even after all this settles, even after I am married...”

“Why, James?" Andrew squinted at the horizon, "...why all this torment over a wretch who won’t have the better sense to conform and do the right thing.”

“Because I care.”

Andrew turned his face and saw James withdrawing his gaze upon the waves to frown steadily at him.

“Lieutenant Groves cares when I am behaving foolishly. Friends, parents, lovers can care, but I don’t even know where I stand with you. It’s like I’m some…halfway point...between your lust and a decent marriage. I’m not something you can commit to, but neither can you leave me alone.” When he finished, James's frown deepened and his eyes were gravely troubled.

“Andrew…”

“Perhaps you are right to try and amend things, only my sin is not so easily redeemable by marriage as you suggest..." he looked away again, "I shall be punished by God in the end, if not immediately by law...and he is capable of sending us real demons, we know that now, and yet I cannot even fight my own…" He swallowed and lowered his chin, shaking his head as his voice grew quieter. "I've tried, but I’m weak, James…so miserably weak.” He felt warmth slipping boldly over his hand, and turned his palm to grip it tight as he looked up at him. “I am not asking for anyone to fight my battles…I never intended that. But sadly...being with someone who could possibly understand seems to impose upon them all those responsibilities which are just too pricey a burden...even if to me, they are merely the simplest things in life...”

“And I wish I could bear your shame as well as my own,” came the broken whisper, “but know that sometimes...there are forces beyond us, which compels us to…become cowards... I know I have only hurt you, but I am weak myself, Andrew, if only you knew... Yet someone has to stay focused, and you know that it is for the best if we moved on, if you could forget and...try to live a respectable life...”

“I never thought that it would be too much to ask...just to be able to spend my days with someone I care for...at least before God decides what he will in the end. To just...go about each day, and come home and fall asleep by your side,” he shook his head, “maybe I am wrong, that one should fear what law can do, since it’s the only way society can be kept under control...and I respect that, as much as you, as much as any other man, yet...”

James brushed his cheek with the backs of his fingers, and he leaned into the touch, his anger waning fast.

“You said I should try and forget…but is that fair...?” Andrew leant away and glanced back along the deck. James removed his touch and followed his line of sight. The close was clear, and James closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

“I know I am asking too much of you…”

"Could you really forget...if you had hurt that much, watching me go last night...perhaps you ask too much of yourself, without knowing it."

"I only know it too well, Andrew...but that is how I pass most of my days..."

“At least....I can know that you feel the same...even if you cannot put it into words.”

“Nothing will change. We shall still see one another, like always.”

“But it may be more difficult, if it hasn’t been difficult enough.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this," James looked at him sadly, "but please try, to accept someone into your life…”

Andrew frowned, but didn’t interrupt.

“I can't stand the thought of you waiting on me-”

“Maybe if you didn’t see it as waiting," Andrew tried to smile, but found it difficult. "But looking forward to something to come, perhaps...would that make you feel a little more at rest?”

“Perhaps…and yet I feel wretched for Elizabeth too," said James, and Andrew quashed his hurt. "...she doesn’t know what she is marrying.”

Andrew hated the thought of something noble being twisted into ugliness under the rules of convention; of course their love was not great, not even acknowledged by word, yet he couldn't imagine anyone viewing as a monster someone as capable of tenderness as the man stood beside him now, filled with the same age-old yearning for another human soul which could speak and respond to his own the best, and knew what he wanted to say before he even said it.

“Then try to love her,” Andrew swallowed his pride and tried to look at ease, “and when you fail, come to me."

“And if I succeed...what then...?”

He turned his head and watched the night. clasping his hands behind his back. When he spoke his voice was faint, slipping fast away into the warmth of the breeze.

“...then we’ll just have to let it be...but until then, I’ll be waiting...”

A voice replied, and yet it seemed so distant, as though James was stood on some far away lands and calling back to him. As always there was the tone of regret, of so much wanting despite himself, of the hope of love, but not believing himself good enough for it.

“...why are you so good to me…”

“Because I love you," he whispered with his eyes on the sea, "and I trust that deep down...you feel the same way too.”

 

He dreamt vividly of a pair of shoes dancing devilishly above a vast sea of angry faces. Following that he saw a length of rope being severed, and the next thing he knew he was falling. As he jerked awake he felt the dull ache in his side as he realised he had rolled off the edge of the couch, and was now staring across at the legs of furniture from where he laid upon his side, chest heaving and with liquid heat trickling over the bridge of his nose. Blinking rapidly until his sight was cleared from their salty grit, he pressed up gradually, trying to regain the breath he had lost during his fall. Morning poured in through the windows and he raised a hand to ward off the harsh glaring light. Around him he could hear the sounds of movement and the productive voices of his men. A new day had already begun, and James wished to have been without those pictures woven by his unconscious and heralding such an ominous tone. Not the best of starts, he thought to himself, but decided he couldn't linger where others may intrude and find their commander sat like a baffled wretch on the ground, or see the turmoil glistening wetly in his roving eyes before a renewed self-consciousness willed composure back into place. 

 ~+~

The Governor was much too depressed to say anything, and James was grateful that they could eat in silence. After a while he began to find something pitiful in the elder man's downcast expression, and decided he ought to say something if only so they wouldn't have to listen to the sole tinkling of their spoons against the rims of their cups. He realised he’d been chewing the same morsel of toast over and over again, and picked up his tea.

“Rest assured governor, we shall soon find your daughter.”

“Yes,” Weatherby sighed as he watched his cup. “I have no doubt about that, with you leading the rescue. But still, one cannot help worrying, not when the perpetrators are nothing but the vilest-”

“Justice shall be done, governor,” he said, meeting the other’s gaze. “I personally shall see to it that no rogue is spared.”

“Yes, rightly so,” Weatherby sighed again, reaching over for the bread. “I just hope they are at least treating my daughter with all the decency and respect a young woman such as herself deserves.”

“Elizabeth shall be in safe hands soon.”

Weatherby tried to smile despite fretting inside like the doting father that he was.

“You have my utmost confidence, James."
 
Hearing his name, James smiled tightly and took another sip of his tea.

~+~

Andrew woke to the sound of Lieutenant Norton moving around in his cabin next door. He wondered at the hour in the dimness, and reached for the sheets, finding them damp. A sudden flashback, and he was pressing tight against the wall of the stern, burying his face into the pillow to remain as silent as possible. His face burned, and he dragged himself out of the cot, almost knocking the shallow basin clean off the set of drawers upon which it stood. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he frowned at the memory of the commodore, and opened the door, peering out across the dining table.

“Good morning, Mr Gillette.”

He stiffened as grey eyes raised and gave him a quick once-over. Lieutenant Willis was already up and seated at the table, eating breakfast alone.

“Good morning, Mr Willis,” he returned as pleasantly as he could, remembering Theodore’s words of advice.

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night? I heard quite an amount of noise coming from your cabin,” came the smooth baritone, and Andrew tried his best not to scowl, even as the embarrassment flared with a vengeance, and he felt horridly exposed without his cravat to hide the heat now beginning to burn all the way up his neck. His ears felt so warm, he thought he could toast bread with them.

“I never have trouble sleeping,” he replied, perhaps a touch too quickly, and caught sight of the lad as he came out with a pitcher. “Thompson, bring me some water for the basin afterwards.”

“Yes, sir.”

“On second thoughts, is that water?”

“Yes, sir-”

“Then I shall have that,” he gestured and the boy came over to hand him the pitcher. Feeling the lieutenant’s eyes still on him, Andrew withdrew back into his cabin and shut the door firmly. Grudge or no grudge, he at least had the good grace to act civilly. Andrew wondered whether he had simply not noticed before, or that the lieutenant was only just beginning to show he was capable of making his company downright uncomfortable with such unpleasantries. He poured and the water sloshed out the side of the basin, dousing the front of his shirt. Rolling his eyes upwards, he let out a sigh, realising he was being childish.

~+~

They stood together at quarter deck, and he confirmed points of navigation with the lieutenants, casting a glance down the waist of the ship, all the way to the forecastle and back again. The men were lively enough, and handling her well, and in the meantime he could think of no immediate issues which needed addressing.

“That will be all, gentlemen,” he dismissed the men with a nod, and they began to disperse after returning the necessary formalities. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned his head towards Lieutenant Gillette as the man began to walk away.

“Mr Gillette,” he said, and the other stopped, one sleeve raised and poised readily against his side.

“Yes, sir?”

“A word,” he turned and paced towards the rear of the deck, and the lieutenant followed. Hearing the fading of footsteps, James waited until Andrew reached his side, and turned halfway to face him.

“I,” he began, regarding the attentive and serious expression with much hidden tenderness. His eyes fell upon a red speck which appeared all the more vivid against the whiteness of the material.

“You have blood on your cravat,” he stated indifferently, and Andrew dipped his head down for a second as if to check, before lifting his chin with a frown.

“I had an accident with the razor this morning, sir.”

“Ah,” James glanced past the lieutenant’s shoulders, saw that each man was busy with his own task. “So I guessed.” He leant a little closer and raised his hands, brushing the back of a finger against the underside of Andrew’s chin as he swiftly adjusted the man’s somewhat haphazardly tied cravat. His eyes were upon the knot, but he heard the soft intake of breath, and felt the subtle swell as he swallowed. Another quick glance towards the crew, and he stepped back, hands joined once more as though they had never moved. Andrew turned around to squint up at the masts.

“We are blessed with a leading wind today, sir.”

“And yet we remain behind.”

“It shan’t be long before we catch up to them.” Brown eyes turned to address him. “I wouldn’t worry so much, sir. Nothing escapes the Dauntless.”

“Rightly so,” he smiled, and so did Andrew. At the sound of a familiar voice, the lieutenant grew distracted and James regarded the ends of his shoes, regretting the interruption. He wet his lips quickly, and said,

“I hope you had a good evening, Mr Gillette.”

His eyes were ready for every flicker, and they met with a telling contortion beginning at the brows, before better judgement stepped in and Andrew smiled again, the expression lacking in the honesty from before. An empty reassurance. Fuel to his self-loathing.

“Of course, sir.”

Weatherby was looking glum as he spoke to Lieutenant Groves, who responded to whatever he was saying with a nod, and then the two of them looked in his direction. Before he could ask anything else, Andrew politely dismissed himself and walked away. James prepared to distract the governor with some idle talk in order to drive him away from his incessant worrying. The back of his mind raged, however, with a furious voice. How could you delude yourself into thinking the vice of drink could possibly disclaim whatever hurt it is you have so clearly inflicted upon the man, yet again? To continuously disappoint him when even now he has the good grace to return dutifully to his work, and pretend nothing ill had happened? And all to save his face, to keep him from hurting. How could he allow himself to treat so treacherously, someone so noble? Apologies were worthless when they embodied the stuff of excuses, a mere repetition of meaningless words, which were somehow supposed to magically fix situations. If he truly wanted to amend things, he knew it would have to be done meaningfully, and practically. It would mean putting an end to cowardice, and speaking with truthfulness, not having to painfully consider each and every unfavourable and disapproving angle before uttering what would have been statements of simplicity. He told Elizabeth once that he had to speak his mind. Wasn’t that the least he owed Andrew?

“Governor Swann.”

~+~

A man could fail his attempt at a good deed, but still be praised for his efforts. To onlookers, his cause fell short from respectability, and when it came to effort, his actions or rather the lack of it, did not deserve to be called even that. It was a lost cause, through and through. And yet each time he saw that face, another part of him began to ache, and before he realised, something else assailed upon that terrible thing called reason. From where he was standing, he could see the figures of Lieutenant Gillette and Lieutenant Willis, stood to a side of the ship and a little away from the rest of the crew. The latter had his back to James, but he could see the other quite clearly past the uniformed shoulder. Andrew’s lips moved rapidly, and his expression was one of surprise, seemingly not unpleasant. Then he stopped talking all of a sudden, eyes widening a little, cheeks flushing deeply. He scowled, then, and whipped away from the other man. James watched as Lieutenant Willis turned around with a certain smugness upon his face. A wry smile played briefly across his lips, but it was enough to cause James a shockingly large amount of discomfort. He found himself wanting to know what the conversation was about, why Andrew had blushed, why the lieutenant was smiling in such a way.

“I hope those villains have the decency to keep her from hunger. O, my poor girl, what trials must you be going through now.”

James remembered the time when they were arguing in his office, and Andrew had asked him how he would react if Lieutenant Willis had given James his name as a guilty criminal. Would he be reading too much into a simple conversation, if he worried Lieutenant Willis was perhaps threatening the other? He put himself in Andrew’s shoes, and imagined Willis passing suggestive comments. Surely they would have raised a greater amount of fear in Andrew’s reaction if they had indeed been threats of exposure? But the scowl was more of annoyance, and the smile afterwards more playful than threatening. Dear god, what if Lieutenant Willis was also thus inclined...

“Commodore?”

James snapped out of his thoughts and relaxed when he realised he had been following that wigged head and hat with a dangerous narrowing of the eyes. He met the governor’s frown, and tried to look normal.

“You seem worried.”

He breathed in and cast his glance afar, attempting to stifle those thoughts now stirring all manners of chaos within. Waves. Blue. The sea. Tranquillity.

“Your talk on Elizabeth reminded me of the ceremony.”

“Ah, yes, when you attempted to propose...”

“I feel wretched for…letting her out of my sight once again,” his voice was wooden, and he felt bad for the rushed half-truth.

“I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

He turned at the words, and smiled weakly at the all wise and knowing patriarch.

~+~

James dreaded the appearance of the stewards. Just where had the day gone? Setting down his quill, he covered his paperwork with his arm, the scrawled letters having dried a good while ago. He felt guilty about not getting on with the plentiful amount of paperwork he had to complete for their sudden rescue mission, and didn’t want anyone else attempting to read into the nature of his distractions. Not that he believed a steward boy could read hearts like he did menus for dinner, but still. Try as he might, he felt awfully fidgety. More than once he found himself contemplating the devising of some petty method to make a certain lieutenant report to his desk. But it would become suspicious if he kept calling Andrew aside so often, and he did not want the men muttering about favouritism, although that would be far better compared to the biggest of his worries. Or, he could summon for Lieutenant Willis, if just to keep him away from Andrew… He scratched invisible circles into the polished surface, frowning. Soon it would be dinner again, and whilst he dined with the governor, the lieutenants would be drinking together below. He was not entirely sure which man had which cabin, but either way, the closeness of their proximity could possibly work to their advantage, and-no. Stop it. Weren’t you only recently commending the man for his nobility and good nature? How could you think he would engage in such acts of… As soon as the question opened, a multitude of possibilities bombarded his mind, and quite soon James had allowed such a number of scenarios to prick him, that the height of his doubt and paranoia simply washed itself with ease over his thoughts, settling into each small recess of his brain until he felt forced to shake his head physically. He wouldn’t. Pressing his fingers to his brow, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the night before. He recalled drinking a ridiculous amount of liquor; the half-emptied bottles, some entirely gone, stood as evidence within his cabinet. Wasn’t that Andrew, who he opened the door to? He was sure they had sat together on the couch. But for how long? He growled under his breath and tried to rub the frustration from his brow, only making it worse as he felt his jaw tensing. A knock sounded at the door, and he moved his hand away, snatching up the quill out of impulse.

“Enter.”

The steward asked whether he was ready for supper. Food. Yes. A healthy meal was what he needed. He was simply reading too much into things, and behaving like a madman. Some weight in his stomach ought to bring some sense back to him.

~+~

Andrew laughed along to another one of Theodore’s witticisms, wondering whether James would be pacing quarter deck again. He decided to go and see for himself. As he dismissed himself from the table, a hand touched his shoulder and he turned to find Theo sighing heavily and rubbing his stomach.

“I think I shall join you on that stroll-”

Blast.

“Oh?”

“My stomach is behaving rather oddly.”

“Perhaps you ought to lay down.”

“No, no, I believe a walk shall get rid of it. Come, lead the way.”

Andrew felt himself being pushed along, and tried not to pull a face.

~+~

So far everything looked promising. The governor wished to retire early to his cabin, which meant he wouldn’t be asking for him again until the next day. Men were still doing the odd job here and there in the background, but that was fine, so long as they kept the Dauntless running smoothly, which was their duty. With nobody else lingering around this part of the ship, the quarter deck was his. And he would look thoughtful, and pace around as though in deep and serious contemplation of their mission until Andrew showed up. Which he would do, because James liked to think he knew most of the man’s habits. The smile on his face faltered, however, when he noticed Lieutenant Groves coming up deck with Andrew. At least it wasn’t Lieutenant Willis, he found himself thinking before he could slay jealousy’s sly tendrils.

 ~+~

Of all the times to have an unsettled stomach, Andrew could depend on Lieutenant Groves to choose the worst.

“I still think lying down will do you some good.”

Theodore grimaced but kept pacing.

“It can’t have been the food, since we all ate the same things.”

“I must’ve eaten too quickly…”

“That’s the most likely reason-”

“Ah, what a pleasant evening.”

Both men turned at the voice, and found Lieutenant Willis coming up to join them. Well not if he could help it.

“Come, Theo, let us join the commodore. Whoever manages to disturb his conversation with the muses wins,” he grabbed his friend’s elbow with the intent of steering him away from the approaching lieutenant, but Willis had caught Theodore’s eye.

“I must say, that was a rather fine joke you made at the table, lieutenant, if not at my expense,” came the grin. Andrew did not buy the man’s attempt to start a conversation, but snatched his hand away from Theodore nonetheless. Unfortunately his friend felt different.

“How do you mean?”

He released an inward breath, and turned his eyes upon quarter deck. Had it been a trick of the eye, or did the commodore make a sudden movement of spinning around on his feet? James started pacing again, and he squinted at the uniformed figure, marking out the circumference of an elongated oval; the sacred shape of contemplation. What was James thinking about now?

“What do you make of the matter, Mr Gillette?”

Nothing at all, for I care not a whit for such pointless debates, thought Andrew to himself.

“I disagree,” he said with force, perhaps that of impatience more than anything else, and saw the raising of Theodore’s brows. What was the question again?

“What I mean is, I utterly agree with the point Mr Groves made. I would not question it.”

“Indeed.”

Andrew disliked the look on Willis’s face. He was wary of smiles which could not easily be read.

“Beg pardon gentlemen, but I do believe I ought to lay down,” Theodore stooped with a grimace, and Andrew pressed a hand to his brow.

“Well it's about time you realised that-"

“Yes, yes, well enjoy your stroll without me, though I am sure you shall miss my company,” Theodore waved his hand lazily before turning from the two of them and staggering off. Andrew glanced back at Lieutenant Willis, and wondered whether he should abandon his original plan, and retreat to the mess deck himself.

“I apologise Mr Gillette, if I have offended you in any way,” said Willis as he reached into his coat and squinted up at the night sky, “I’m afraid teasing others is an ancient folly of mine.” Andrew relaxed a little as the lieutenant exhaled heavily through his nose, and then smiled; this time it seemed convincing enough. “Established since boyhood, as it were.” The hand withdrew a silver snuff box, and was offered his way, but Andrew shook his head.

“Yes, well,” he decided to drop his pettiness, and leant his hand upon the nearby rail, “I can sympathise to an extent, being a man of somewhat stubborn habits myself.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” he drummed his fingers against the wood, thinking how Willis’s explanation could also apply, in a way, to himself. With a flick of the wrist, the lid of the snuff box snapped shut, and was put away again. It seemed the purpose of the lieutenant’s approaching him and Theo had merely been an attempt to put to rest some of the unease which had risen between them. Andrew tried not to scoff; real gentlemen wouldn’t even be bickering in the first place, and shame to the man if he could not control such boyish impulses. But then again, what of his own? He turned his head, but no matter how much he scrutinised each outline, could find nobody tracing skewed circles upon quarter deck.

~+~

James tidied up the papers and picked up the lid for the ink. What could he do next? He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. Perhaps he ought to retire for the evening, he thought. Pushing back in his chair he stood up and stretched, then rubbed at his face with his hands. Pacing over to his drinks cabinet he opened its doors and fished out a claret. The empty bottle in the corner reminded him of the night before. Apart from emptying its contents he didn't know what else happened, whether he said anything to Andrew. James found a clean glass and poured himself a good measure, promising himself that he would not have a refill once it was gone. Two full glasses later he realised things were easier said than done. Falling back onto the couch he sighed and let his head fall back against the plush upholstery as his eyes drifted to a close.

The liquor warmed his body in all the right places except one. He creaked open his eyes and stroked his hand across the velvety texture of the couch. "Did you stay?"

He imagined being answered by a collective rising of eyebrows, a curling of the mouth and the way it would then part with some clever retort. "I try so hard to convince myself,” he murmured, voice hushed as he pressed his cheek against the velvet. “That you aren't hiding something behind that smile of yours.” He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, lifting his hand to cover his face. "Forgive me..."

~+~

There was a soft knocking sound and he lowered his hand. He watched the door, waiting for it to start again, and when it came he quickly dried his face with his sleeve and went to answer it. Both dreading and hoping it would be Andrew, he drew in a breath and pushed down on the handle, opening the door. There he stood, with that look on his face that seemed to always know when something was amiss. James almost shut the door on him. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands quickly behind his back.

“Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Andrew began to say, but then closed his eyes for a second as though checking himself. "No...may I come in?"

James glanced past Andrew's shoulder.

"Is this important?" he asked quietly. "Can it not wait?"

Andrew looked troubled at his question.

"You want me to go?" 

James pressed his lips together and turned to walk away. He heard Andrew come in and close the door.

~+~

He watched as James walked over to his desk. It was like a barrier between them, and he didn't want to be asked to sit again.

"James," he said before the other had reached his seat. "You weren't yourself last night, and I know something is wrong even now...how long do you intend to keep up this pretence?"

James watched the paper on his desk for a moment before looking up at him. From where he stood Andrew could see the faint trembling in his lower lip and the beginning furrows in his brow. He seemed to be struggling with himself.

"Sit down," he uttered with a frown as he lowered himself tensely into his chair.

"No," said Andrew softly, and James sighed, raising his hands to rub at his face.

"What is it that you want, Andrew."

"For you to be honest with me," he said, and James lowered a hand to look up at him. "And sober long enough to face up to things..."

"I'm sorry for the night before..."

"Do you think it's any easier for me...seeing you get like that because you don't want to commit to anything?"

James sighed and shook his head, turning his face to the side.

"Don't come any more," he said softly.

"Is that what you want?"

"We should stop," said James, watching his hand where it laid upon the desk. Andrew strode quietly across the room, stopping as he came right up to James's side.

"Are you afraid to look at me," he asked, touching his shoulder. James shut his eyes and bit his lip. Fingers brushed faintly against his cheek, and he turned his face towards him.

"You have no idea," he said, opening and lifting his eyes. "What you do to me."

"I'll stop coming," Andrew whispered, resting his hand on his shoulder. "When your heart stops calling to me."

"Andrew," James began to protest, but he shook his head.

"I hate making you the coward you're not," he said softly, his hand falling away from his shoulder. James caught and gripped it tight.

"You make me afraid of myself..."

Andrew pressed his other hand to James's cheek and he closed his eyes with a ragged sigh, his breath blowing warm against his palm.

"Don't be afraid," Andrew whispered, and leant down at the same time he drew James's face up to meet him in a kiss. A hand crept up to hold onto the edge of his coat as his own slid back to clasp James's neck. Their lips parted and tongues stroked against one another, gentle at first then suddenly rough and needful as though the tide had changed beyond their control. Andrew grabbed James's arms, pulling him out of his chair, and they stumbled their way back against the couch. They stood there clasping and clinching one another like drowning men, pressing their bodies tightly together and murmuring each other's names against their hungry mouths, their hands roaming and grasping onto every possible inch and not letting go.

"Andrew," James whispered his name, his voice forlorn and sad. Andrew tried to kiss the pain and regret away; he kissed him soft and hard, kissed him until they lost their breaths and then kissed him yet some more. James eventually broke off panting for air whilst Andrew loosened his cravat and kissed under his jaw. He pressed his lips into James's skin, nipping with his teeth the nervous and alluring throb trapped in his bared throat. He heard James release a ragged sigh, and tightened his arms around him. "You're mine," he growled under his breath before sinking his teeth into the smooth flesh of his neck.

~+~

There had been nothing particularly graceful about their hurried love-making. He hadn't meant to do it so crudely, bending James over the arm of the couch. Yet everything seemed to happen so fast, there wasn't even time for words. Without protest James finally gave in and offered up what he had always wanted, and Andrew knew he only managed to throw himself into it full throttle before he could have any second thoughts or if his nerve were suddenly to break. He fought passionately to keep up with James's pace, letting himself go despite the lack of preparation. They struggled to supress their groans throughout, and James bit on to his arm to stifle his cries as Andrew thrusted brutally against him. He didn't know if this was James's first time. He almost wished it wasn't because it fell painfully short from what he had often imagined his first claim on the man to be like; slow, careful, done with James laying on his back so he could watch his face as he showed him what it was to give, to let go of his fears and offer up his soul. In reality James had come undone far too soon, and Andrew had to keep going, despising his own brutality and the callousness with which he pushed aside the sight of blood. During those last moments nothing else mattered but the maddening heat and the blessed friction, mingled with the sound of James's pained whimpers which were so thrillingly new to his ears. And now as they laid gasping for air in the aftermath, the tide crept away again to leave them cold and shivering.

“You locked the door?” asked James wearily beneath him. Andrew peeled himself off his back and pulled up his breeches.

“Yes,” he sighed, watching as James slowly picked himself up from the armrest and reached back for his waistband with a trembling hand. Andrew felt a stab of guilt. When James turned around he drew him quickly into a tight embrace. Neither said anything as they stood and held one another, him with his eyes closed as James leant heavily against him, his hands gripping onto the waistcoat at Andrew's back.

“It’s never enough,” whispered Andrew, unable to help it. "Never enough."
 
"It can still be like this," James murmured, but Andrew pulled back enough to see his face and saw doubt in his eyes.

"For how long?" he asked. "Those snatched moments when you're not in her arms?"

"Andrew-"

"Don't," snapped Andrew, clasping James forcefully to himself. "Just don't..." he said, trailing off as he bit his lip. Don't marry her, he wanted to say, but knew it wouldn't do anything except make things worse. He felt James slowly fold his arms around him and held on for dear life.
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Thirteen
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: The kipnapping of Miss Swann and the Interceptor.
Genre: Romance/angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.
 

“What the devil?”

Andrew dashed to the window and squinted at the flash of lights in the distance over the tops of dormant houses. From where he was standing he could see that the attack was directed at the battlements, but who was the perpetrator? With a frown he stepped straight into his shoes and seized his coat, near throwing himself down the stairs and out of the house where the booms of cannon shots bombarded his ears.

~+~

James scrambled back onto his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. That was close.

“Return fire!” he shouted, hurrying towards his men with the governor following in a daze. Now was the time to prove he was worthy of his title. Stay calm, and keep focused. Looking down from the top of the fort, he made out the shape of a ship lit by the moon, and knew he was right about her hidden warning.

“Sight the muzzle flash!”

The air was growing thick with smoke and the sound of men repeating his orders in hurried voices. The smell of burning gunpowder made his nostrils flare. Who was attacking them?

“I need a full strike, fore and aft!”

Hit now, and ask questions later. He noticed Weatherby dithering unhelpfully at his side, and called to him, both grimacing as the walls braced another hit.

~+~

Andrew came into the office with Theodore. Lieutenant Willis was already stood before the desk, reporting the damage done as Lieutenant Norton listened on. The commanding officer took the chart from Willis and scrutinised it from top to bottom. The governor was pacing restlessly to and fro behind.

“Commodore.”

“Lieutenant Gillette, Lieutenant Groves,” James greeted them with a nod, and Lieutenant Willis stepped back with Lieutenant Norton so they formed a line before the man in charge.

“As you may already know, it has been established that our attack from the previous night-”

A furious knocking interrupted, and Andrew turned to open the door.

“Beg pardon, sir, a message for the Governor-”

“Come in, come in!” Weatherby marched out hurriedly from behind the desk and Andrew drew back the door to let the messenger in. All eyes fell upon the figure of the rough and haggard-looking man, clutching a limp hat in his hands as he stammered whilst the governor’s coat sleeves flew in various jerky directions. The man apologised for delivering such ill news, but he was afraid that the pirates had sacked the governor’s house and-

“What, man, out with it!”

Taken Miss Swann.

“O!” Weatherby flung a hand against his brow in despair, and whipped around to the commodore.

“We’ll find her, governor,” James said without hesitation, and Andrew nodded at the messenger, who returned the gesture before donning his hat and scurrying off. As they listened to James’s instructions, Andrew could not help feeling what a loathsome thing the whole notion of a rescue mission was; it seemed the woman was made for a role in melodrama, no matter how heroic that made her rescuer seem. But of course this wasn’t just about Elizabeth; they had to get even with the bastards who dared to attack their port. He tried not to let things get personal, and only nodded the once after the commodore had finished speaking, before marching out of the room with the other lieutenants.

~+~

Andrew saw the young man approach, hatchet in hand, gaze determined.

“They’ve taken her, they’ve taken Elizabeth.”

They all glanced at the head bent over the map, but heard only the cool tones of indifference.

“Mr. Murtogg, remove this man.”

He glanced back, regarded the features which spoke boy rather than man, and remembered his name.

“We have to hunt them down, we must save her.”

Look, James, a contender for your position as knight in shining armour. But he wasn’t the only one scoffing at the naivety, for the governor had spun around to address the Turner lad himself.

“And where do you propose we start? If you have any information concerning my daughter, please share it.”

There was a pause, and then one of the soldiers mentioned Jack Sparrow and the Black Pearl; the man be damned, if he had anything to do with this, and to think he had managed to pull a fast one after he had clamped him with the bloody irons. Andrew felt his jaw tensing; he had to be careful next time, and make up for his foolishness.

“Ask him where it is, make a deal with him, he can lead us to it.”

Which apparently did not exceed that of Will Turner’s. The commodore was still consulting navigation lines, and barely spared the boy a glance since he dashed onto the scene. Andrew could not blame him.

“No…the pirates who invaded this Fort left Sparrow locked in his cell ergo they are not his allies. Governor, we will establish their most likely course…”

The next thing they heard was the sound of iron striking against wood, but nobody flinched.

“That’s not good enough!”

Andrew tried to sympathise with the desperation in his words, if not the accusation, and watched as James pulled free the simple tool and walked over to its owner.

“Mr. Turner , you are not a military man, you are not a sailor. You are a blacksmith and this is not the moment for rash actions.”

Andrew felt his head nod in agreement, and strained his ears to catch the quieter remainder of the speech.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Elizabeth.”

The hatchet struck again, and this time he felt it, even if nobody else could.

~+~

The more he relived the events of the day, the more he felt himself blowing hot, then cold, then hot again. First of all, there was the whole fiasco with Sparrow and Turner making off with the Interceptor, and in turn, making a damned fool of the navy in the course of it. Then there was the frustration with himself for having been outwitted by the culprits, intermingled with that pathetic disappointment still lingering and plucking treacherously at his heartstrings. He needed a drink.

“Blast that Sparrow and Will Turner,” he growled, downing the rest of the wine and slamming the glass back onto the table. Some of the men glanced his way, but continued murmuring amongst themselves. The steward dashed over with the pitcher.

“I still can’t believe he’d rather sink her out of pride-”

“Well so would I! rather than see it in the hands of a dirty pirate-”

Theo snorted as he watched the boy pour encouragement into Andrew’s glass.

“You sound as if you were there when he said so himself.”

“If you ask me, Sparrow should have been hung before he had the chance to escape.”

Andrew glanced up at Lieutenant Willis, whose steel-grey eyes were scrutinising the shade of the wine through his titled glass. He felt himself bristling at the lieutenant’s words, however much truth they contained.

“I agree, although as the commodore said so himself, the ship which attacked us wasn’t linked to Sparrow,” Theodore countered, and Willis turned to look at him.

“But hanging him would have saved us much of the embarrassment, wouldn’t you agree? Anyone could have seen that Sparrow had his eyes set on the Interceptor,” those eyes shifted onto his, and Andrew felt his jaw tensing.

“Then why did you not inform the commodore of your better judgement at the time, Lieutenant Willis?”

“I would have, had he not already charged onto the Dauntless, which itself ought to have been better-

“Gentlemen,” Theodore raised a hand and frowned first at Willis, then Andrew, “It has been a long day, let us leave it at that.”

Lieutenant Willis nodded gracefully, before setting down his glass and leaving the table. Andrew realised he had been grinding his teeth, and stopped.

“And just what was the man insinuating?” he hissed beneath his breath, and felt Theo’s hand clamp his shoulder, and give him a small, firm shake.

“Let it go, there’s no point holding on to grudges. God knows how long we’ll be serving alongside one another.”

Andrew sighed and Theo released him, tipping back his glass before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

He watched the other press a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn, and wondered what would’ve happened if Theo had not stepped in between him and Willis. He liked to think that he had better self-control than that, but Willis had hit a nerve. It was bad enough that the man had challenged his performance, but the commodore’s? His defences had flared up twice as quickly.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, and his friend rose from the table.

“And you. Though I’d rid myself of that foul temper soon,” he looked up and met the lieutenant’s tired face, “I’d rather not hear about you making a further fool of yourself.” Andrew grimaced, but acknowledged the friendly advice, nonetheless.

“You won’t.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight.”

~+~

He found James up on quarter deck, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. The hour was late, and this part of the ship was mostly empty, and quiet. Slowing his pace, he tried to approach the commodore without disturbing his peace, but his attempt was aborted before he could make ten paces within reaching him.

“Lieutenant Gillette,” the head turned, and Andrew felt a small pang as he met his gaze.

“Commodore,” he nodded lightly and strode up towards him. James lifted his chin to observe the sky, and Andrew wondered at the wistful expression. The desire to rat on Willis faded now that they were once more alone. He wanted each moment to count, and looked up himself, finding the moon hidden behind blue-black clouds. Neither of them said anything, simply stood and watched the heavens. Something moved, much too quickly for him to catch, and Andrew squinted.

“Did you see that, Lieutenant?”

“I think so…”

He stopped straining his neck and watched James instead, the way the night breeze teased the ribbon of his wig. A sonnet came to his mind, and he imagined himself as the wind, brushing against the curve of his ear, the crest of his cheek.

“A sailor once told me a shooting star was a good sign,” James murmured, and Andrew closed his eyes, imagining himself holding the other in a loose embrace, and swaying to the steady thrum of the Dauntless beneath their feet.

“And then the man beside him swore it was an ill omen. Which one do you believe, Lieutenant?”

He imagined the gentle touch upon his cheek, the warmth of his breath blowing soft against his skin. It didn’t have to be a big gesture, sometimes it paid to be subtle.

“Lieutenant Gillette.”

The heat flooded into his face, but he forced himself to open his eyes slowly, and faked a yawn.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve been falling asleep on my feet.”

James smiled, regarding him with a mixture of fondness and something else. He pegged it as tenderness, and left it at that. It was too pleasant a night to let more doubt waltz in and spoil it all.

“You should get some rest,” his voice was quiet, soft. Caring. Warmth seeped into his chest, and he suddenly started walking off to a side, stopping between two cannons to lean against the rail. His sudden movement surprised the commodore, but his little plan had worked, for he heard the sound of shoes against the deck, making in his direction. Sure enough, James had joined him at the rail, and he could not help the curling of his lip.

“Or not.”

“What are you thinking of just now?” Andrew looked at him, and James shifted his weight upon his arms, eyes sweeping over the vast and stretching dark waters below. His expression reminded Andrew of the Turner boy, only more rational, and with that elegance not all men had.

“That we shall soon catch them up.”

Andrew scouted the horizon, attempting to discern where sea ended and sky began.

“Which do you want to find first?” he watched the other closely.

“The kidnappers,” James answered without pause, and he lowered his gaze upon those hands resting against the rail.

“Only so I may see them hanged for attacking the Fort, and wreaking havoc upon innocent civilians.”

He looked up hopefully, and met James’s droll little smile.

“It’s the least I owe them.”

“You handled the Fort the best you could. The only person who owes anybody anything is that damned Sparrow, but we shan’t let him cheat the noose a second time.”

The gaze softened, and James watched him in such a way which made him blush, but he was sure the other wouldn’t be able to tell under the dimness. As though to mock him, the clouds shifted and the moon peeked out to betray his embarrassment; he cursed beneath his breath and toyed with his hands pitifully. He felt warmth sliding over his knuckles, and stopped fidgeting.

“Thank you for your support, Lieutenant. I believe I have never actually put my gratitude into words.”

It took all of his strength not to grasp that hand. His fingers twitched, and James withdrew contact.

“You don’t have to,” he smiled, and leant on his arms, watching down at the invisible movements of the sea, “It is felt, most thoroughly.” There was a pause, and then the softest anyone had ever spoken his name…

“Andrew-”

“Commodore Norrington-”

They broke from the rail and turned to the sight of Governor Swann making his way towards them. Andrew wet his lips and clasped his hands behind his back before addressing the other.

“Goodnight, commodore,” he dipped his head, back so straight he thought he would snap in two.

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

As James strode over to meet the governor, Andrew walked off to the other side of the ship, eyes pointed to the sky as he cursed the gods for their games, and almost collided into a sailor who had appeared from out of nowhere. He decided blasphemy would only gain him more jokes, so he decided to retire, admitting he was no match for those greater powers somewhere beyond the stars. And then he walked into something else.

“O for the love of-James! I mean, commodore-”

The moon was out. James’s cheeks were a healthy glow, and he was gripping his arms tightly.

“Meet me at my cabin, at some ungodly hour,” he whispered, before letting go and storming off as quickly as he’d appeared. Andrew stared after the retreating figure like he’d just witnessed an apparition. The flurry of words rang in his ears, and he felt as though someone had seized and shook him so much, that his bearings had rolled clean off the deck. He clasped his hands to his back once more, if only to stay the anticipation now bubbling through his entire person. Unbelievable. He really ought to curse the gods more often.

~+~

The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock, and without giving him the chance to speak, something seized the front of his coat and dragged him into the cabin. He stumbled inside, reached back with a hand to close to door as carefully as he could, and felt a weight hurl itself against him. Hands grasped his shoulders, damp lips latched onto his, and he steadied his footing to keep from falling back against the door. He grabbed at James’s arms, felt the heat of his breath, caught the scent of liquor, and tasted a mixture of claret and whiskey on his tongue.

“James,” he gasped, breaking from the kiss, and holding the other back so he could see his face. Those green eyes were clouded, his mouth agape. James looked confused, and dazed, and Andrew would bet anything that somebody else could’ve opened the door, and James would have reacted just the same. Thank god it was him standing outside the cabin doors.

“For the love of god,” he hissed as he dragged the other towards some piece of sturdy furniture, “Why do you keep coming to me drunk-”

“Andrew,” James clung on to him even as he tried to sit him down onto the chair.

“You drink out of guilt, and so you don’t have to worry about saying the right things when I’m-” Andrew pulled free the other’s grip, and let James’s hands drop into his lap.

“Well I shan’t fall for it,” he stood back, and saw James starting to get up. He knelt down on one knee and put his hands on his shoulders, keeping him sat and still, as he felt the anger slowly beginning to build.

“Can’t you trust yourself to be with me as you are?”

James slumped forwards and pressed a warm hand to his cheek. Andrew closed his eyes as he felt the other’s brow leaning against his own.

“O James…” he sighed heavily, not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry…” came the slurred murmur, low, but honest, and Andrew creaked open his eyes. Perhaps he was reading too much into things again. How could James know what he was saying? What did it matter, anyway? It would be another bittersweet evening if only to be forgotten. He took hold of James’s wrist, and pressed a soft kiss into the palm of his hand.

“Don’t do this to me love…”

James slipped off the edge of the chair, and swamped him with his arms. His knees hit the ground, and Andrew leant back to catch his weight as he landed, hands moving up to grip the uniform at his back.

“I’m sorry…”

His heart ached, and he wanted back the anger from the dinner table, replayed Lieutenant Willis’s words over and over again in his head, but all he could think about was how to make the most of the situation, as short-lived as it would be, and just-no. He couldn’t. He would only be torturing himself.

“It’s not fair,” he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into James’s neck, fingers bunching up fabric, “Why is it always me, James? just…”

He felt dampness on James’s jaw, and leant back to find green eyes spilling tears he could not help.

“You fool…” he whispered, cupping the man’s face and kissing away the moisture. Hands held on clumsily to the back of his neck, and he let James lean his brow against his again. Two fine rivers kept running down his cheeks, but the rest of him was calm and still. Andrew looked deep into his eyes, trying to work out whether James was even aware of what he was doing. He had to be feeling something. Everything was probably just numbed, and slowed-down by the drink. Give him a little time, and things would start clearing up again.

“Come on…we’ll get you cleaned up,” he murmured quietly, putting his arms around James’s back to pull him onto his feet. They staggered together over onto the couch, and Andrew sat down with him, propping him up because James suddenly seemed to have lost his energy. He let him rest his head against his shoulder, and reached around to stroke his back. James’s fingers brushed his knee, and he covered his hand with his own, releasing a long, quiet sigh. For a moment he could see himself spending the entire night sat on the couch, nursing James as he slept off his drunkenness. At least the furniture was comfortable, he sighed again, and pressed his cheek into James’s hair.

“Since you probably won’t hear half of what I say…or even remember, for all I know…I guess…I feel I can say things which I wouldn’t normally say myself…” he smiled wistfully, and looked down at James’s hand. “Not that you haven’t heard what I’ve wanted most to say already…but I understand things have changed.”

He listened to James’s steady breaths, wondered how long he had before the man slipped away completely.

“I’m afraid…that once we rescue Elizabeth, you will feel obliged to try even harder to do the right thing…and you will try so hard…being who you are…and I’ll make it even harder simply by being there...”

He picked up James’s hand, brushed his thumb across the knuckles.

“What must happen, James…? Will you come to loathe me, for this torment you are feeling, when you shouldn’t have to feel it…? Is that the only way it will end…you turning back into that block of ice…and it’s all Lieutenant Gillette again, one lieutenant amongst many…it hurts…you know…? I like it better…when you say Andrew. It sounds warm, and…somehow it fits, like being home.”

Andrew breathed in deeply and exhaled as though he were releasing a burden. He could tell from the sound of quiet and steady breathing, and the weight pressing against his side, that James had fallen asleep.

“You said I should be glad that I don’t share a house with you…but I think about it…sometimes…and I wonder if you ever…”

His words trailed off, and he began to grow weary. Gently he eased James back and down upon the couch. As he bent over him, he wondered how much of the evening the commodore would wake up and come to remember; he hoped it wouldn’t be much. It was for the best, after all. James looked so peaceful when he slept. So untouched by troubles, that he even seemed younger, somehow. By the time Andrew found himself back at the door, the bottles were stopped, and the commodore was asleep on the couch, arm tucked beneath his coat to keep it from draping out over the edge. His soul felt heavy, but he smiled and put his hand on the handle, slowing shutting James from his sight.
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Twelve
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: Before the attack of the Pearl
Genre: Romance/angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Strong sexual references
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.

Andrew watched the servant girl as she deliberated over refilling the commodore’s glass during such a fit of agitation. She glanced at him, and he tried to suppress his amusement, believing the needling scrape of cutlery against fine china to be answer enough for her question.

“I daresay the thing will soon burst into flame under such a fury,” Andrew murmured as he gestured for a refill, and the silver pitcher came his way.

“I do believe that would be impossible, Mr. Gillette, considering my dinner is already burnt to a crisp.”

Maria was fingering the handle of the pitcher sheepishly, and Andrew tried not to roll his eyes.

“Should I take it back, sir?”

“No,” came the long-drawn answer, and both his company flinched as his knife slipped and ground against the plate. Andrew dismissed the girl with a light nod towards the door. She set down the pitcher and glanced once more towards the master, found him still hacking away at his steak, and dipped her head at the lieutenant before flitting away out of the room. As the door clicked softly to a close, Andrew released a weighty sigh, and leant back in his chair.

“You are positively monstrous to live with.”

“Then be glad that you do not.”

He watched as James forked a piece of steak and jammed it into his mouth.

“Are you still angry about that pirate?”

James finally looked up at him, chewing still and feigning a look of indifference. Andrew waited patiently for him to swallow before speaking.

“No.”

He snorted, and that wigged head snapped up again.

“What is it that you find so amusing, Mr. Gillette?”

Andrew lowered his eyes and spread his hands upon the pristine tablecloth, smoothing out the non-existent creases. He had thought that the sound of the door being closed would have confirmed their privacy and brought James back into the ready sphere of his confidence. But his temper retained the need for formalities, and it seemed he still had to work around James’s defences before he could get him to talk openly. Before he even started, he could tell that the level of frustration hanging over the other end of the table had much to do with pride and the familiar retreating behind certain mental defence mechanisms once it got hurt.

“I am beginning to see why Maria said it is rare for guests to be invited for dinner,” he said mildly, and heard cutlery being lowered against the china and left there.

“I apologise,” came the unexpected response, and Andrew looked up to see James easing back against his chair, cradling his claret; he took a breath and then let it out slowly, his gaze resting upon the amber liquid as it swirled within the glass.

“It has been a long day, so forgive me for being ill company…”

“Not at all.”

“In the past Maria would keep serving the guests drink, if only to numb the expectation of riveting conversation.”

“She seems a considerate and kindly creature,” said Andrew as he watched the droll little smile on James’s lips.

“She’s a dear girl,” he murmured, before tipping back the glass. Andrew looked at the pitcher, and wondered what it was like to be there in the house, witnessing those moments when the master returned at night, weary and ready for sleep, or in the morning, when-

“How did the proposal go?” he brushed aside the memory of spending one surreal morning eating breakfast at the table they sat at now, though the pitcher had then been filled with freshly squeezed orange.

“She toppled over the battlement before I heard her answer.”

“Ah.”

“I was horrified, but looking back on it now it all seems a little comical.”

Andrew tried not to betray his inward huzzah, and kept his smile strictly sympathetic.

“I thought it was rather heroic of you, risking your life to take the plunge,” he nodded the once, and watched James’s glass; the claret was now forming a miniature whirlpool, and seemed ready to slosh straight out of the container. The force of it betrayed some deeper tumult beneath that rigid façade, but he knew better than to comment upon it.

“As we all know, it was in fact Sparrow who saved the day,” James said dryly, and Andrew tried to distinguish possible undertones of humiliation, anger, even jealousy, but only ended up feeling a mixture of frustration and disappointment when he could not. He did not warm to the idea that when it came to understanding and truly knowing James, much of it still remained guess-work; they still had that whole fencing around with words, before Andrew could latch on to what mattered most to the man, and say something challenging to provoke some long-suppressed emotion, or offer reassuring words which he knew the other would only be too proud to ask for.

“But it seems the same cannot be said for his fate, for the law is only interested in asserting justice through condemnation,” he finished without triumph, and Andrew suddenly thought about the hostile conversation in James’s office, and suspected some similar strain of guilt underlying his loyalty to decorum.

“And he is right to be condemned. You said yourself that one small act cannot possibly erase a lifetime of wickedness-”

James flinched, and Andrew paused; he’d meant to reassure, but the choice of phrasing had been clumsy. Such words held far too much implication. The whirlpool was swiftly downed, and he swallowed, suddenly feeling as though he were trapped in a room where each step sent mountains of china toppling and smashing against the carpet.

“You shall be returning to the Fort soon?” he changed the subject, and helped himself to the pitcher, checking its contents for no particular reason.

“I believe so. Governor Swann desires I take a walk with him.”

“Oh?”

“I suppose it would be somewhat refreshing. There’s always something rather peaceful about night time strolls...”

“Absolutely.”

“…is there no wine left?”

Gillette stopped toying with the pitcher and cleared his throat, waving a hand over it as though to hide something which had magically appeared in it; a mermaid, perhaps, rising to mock him with a knowing look.

“O no, there’s plenty, I just fancied I…saw something…” he tried a little laugh, “It’s been a long day,” he finished and grinned, eyes attached to the polished silver as he tapped his finger against its side. What was he saying?

“For a moment there I thought you were reading fortunes,” James’s voice was thoughtful as he spoke, “My mother had a habit of reading tealeaves.”

“As did mine.”

“Ah,” James smiled and turned the stem of his glass, round and round. “How funny it is, the ways we search for things.”

Andrew cleared his throat and pushed back against his chair to stand.

“Would you care for a stroll, commodore?”

James looked up at him and blinked somewhat blankly.

“What…now?”

He picked his coat up from where it hung across the back of the chair, and drew it swiftly up and over his shoulders.

“Yes,” he grinned, smoothing his hands down his chest, “It would work wonders for digestion, and we need all the help we can get, to be quite honest.”

James laughed, a genuine sound, and one which finally lit up his face. Having spent such a length of time with the man’s broodiness, the change of mood was almost elevating, and he looked forward to the walk, hoping it would prove itself a better chance for him to speak his mind. It had been his experience that fresh air could indeed do wonders, he thought to himself as James put on his coat.

~+~

They came out of the front of the house, and stood upon the stone porch, breathing in the crisp night air. James watched for the stars, and felt his eyebrows knotting as he observed the moon. Although it looked no different than it did on any other evening, something seemed strange about it nonetheless. The more he thought about it, the more its pale splendour appeared to be encompassing some obscure sense of foreboding, and it took the physical touch of a hand upon his shoulder to snap bring him out of his somewhat dark speculations.

“Shall we?” Andrew smiled, and James relaxed at the familiar expression. Together they strolled at a leisurely pace down the dusty road leading up to the house, James with his hands clasped behind his back, Andrew keeping a little ahead with an almost eager bounce to his steps.

“I do enjoy a walk at night,” he remarked rather cheerfully, and James could not help smiling at the enthusiasm. “Living where I am, you don’t have the benefit of nature.”

“It is a rather peaceful location.”

“I like it well. It reminds me of England.”

“Yes, I agree. I chose it for the same reason. The layout is very similar to one of our old country estates.”

They came under some trees growing against the low brick wall which they kept walking beside, and the thick canopy of branches and leaves obscured some of the light from the moon, throwing the lieutenant partly into shadow.

“I often think of England,” Andrew said quietly, and James began to reminisce himself, about the lake beside his childhood home, and the smell of damp earth being kicked up under his shoes as he ran deeper into the woods after some child or animal, he forgot which. It all seemed such a long time ago.

“But I don’t miss it so much now. Certain things have become…familiar and dear to me, here as it is anywhere…”

The sound of their steps were absorbed by the dry earth beneath their soles, and only the faint rustling of foliage could be heard from above.

“Yes, adaptability is vital for a career in the navy,” James glanced up as something flickered past the gaps in the leaves.

“I wonder what the governor has in mind,” said Andrew, and he squinted at the dark network of treetops, trying to find the bird.

“What do you mean?”

“I’d imagine the man has some purpose or another for the occasion…”

“It’s only a walk, and I suppose it would be good to inspect the conditions of the-”

“He’ll probably want to discuss the thwarted proposal, considering he was aware, no doubt, of your intentions.”

“Perhaps.”

Andrew grew very quiet, and James lowered his gaze to the ground, kicking a stone out of their way.

~+~

His heart started to race, and he chided himself for acting like a love-struck youth; what was the meaning of behaving as though he hadn’t already committed an act which surpassed the entire concept of a chaste pursuit? Granted the nature of his cause had never belonged to the innocent sphere of wooing as it did to young men, indeed to anyone living under blessed normality. And yet he had felt the same torrents of wishing and anxiety, perhaps on an even higher extreme, considering his efforts consistently gained him bittersweet hope; and he was well aware that the sweetness which came naturally in those delayed and hesitant “good nights”, and the innocent blushes of the pursued as she waved her beloved away, was not for him. Watching James now, he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Relief had washed over him at the dinner table when he learned James’s proposal had been thwarted. Now his jealousy rekindled at the thought of the governor walking side by side with the other like he was now, and attempting to remedy the situation. Elizabeth would still have to give her consent, but he could not imagine her not doing so, being pressed by the eagerness of her father, and without any names of lovers spread around the social circles at the usual dinner parties.

“Perhaps.”

And James was not helping. No doubt he had a variety of things on his mind, for the events of the day had been an inarguable sequence of madness, and it was sheer bad luck that Jack Sparrow happened to prance his way into port the very same day of the promotion ceremony. Those wisecracks must have infuriated James, but he personally doubted the men would have thought much of them, try as the pirate might to make him look stupid; he believed most of them rather liked James, and respected him as their commanding officer. Back in the house, they had been pitched at either end of the grand dining table, but here it was just the two of them, walking shoulder to shoulder, now that he allowed himself to lag a little in his step, and fall back in line with James. He looked thoughtful, but was still largely keeping to himself. Andrew glanced at those hands clasped behind James’s back, and wet his lips before reaching out nervously. But just before he could touch him he stopped, and pulled away again. Unable to help it, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Are you alright?”

They stopped walking, and Andrew pressed his hand to his stomach, when in actual fact he wanted to clasp it over the spot from where his heart seemed fit to burst. Get a hold of yourself, you fool, he berated himself, but James’s look of concern was so encouraging, his face lit just right by the moon. He wanted to kiss him, and his bottom lip pulsed at the thought.

“I’m fine, although I suggest you serve any future guests something less…challenging. Salad, perhaps…”

James chuckled, and he felt a part of him sink at the lost opportunity, whilst the better half approved of his self-control. So was that it? Could he only carry on suppressing his own advances now that James was beginning to find his way back onto the straight and narrow? Dear god, he couldn’t breathe.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Andrew raised a hand to fend off his words as he leant against his other hand which now clasped the jagged stone wall.

“Yes, yes,” he grimaced, and looked back over his shoulder towards the house, “What hour is it? We should probably head back.”

“Right.”

He felt James’s hand supporting his arm, and resisted the urge to tackle him straight onto the ground. Instead he brushed the touch off politely and straightened himself up into a dignified posture.

“Mustn’t keep the governor waiting,” he grinned, and started to march back towards the house. James had to quicken his step to catch up with him, and when they reached the porch, Andrew almost tripped right over it, so harassed by his own private humiliation that he seemed not to notice anything else.

~+~

He stood at the door with his hand upon the brass knob, unable to decide whether he ought to go in. The floorboard creaked under his shoe as he leant back with a sigh, reminding him just how quiet it was without another soul in the house. It was bad enough that he could not put to rest those thoughts from the walk, let alone allow himself to submit to the comfort of his own bed. Such a retreat must’ve seemed the most mundane and obvious choice to any living being, but if he could really trust himself to sleep, he wouldn’t be stood deliberating outside as he was. But a man could not waste minutes of his life contemplating such trivialities, not when he had made various important decisions on the spot, such as was demanded of most men in a similar position as himself, and in charge of equally similar responsibilities.

They stumbled up the stairs, James tripping over the last step, and almost sending both of them down again.

He sighed and opened the door, walking in to blue dimness. Shrugging out of his coat, he strode over to the window and peered out at the varying gradients of blue washes making up the sky, dotted here and there with faint stars from where he could see. They had seemed so close and vivid back at James’s estate, as though one could fairly reach out and pluck them straight out of the air. He brushed at the collar of the uniform in his hands, and peeled off a leaf. Thoughts he did not want, came tumbling forth out of a heated imagination as though making up for intentions which never became any more than mere ideas. He sat down in the chair propped near the window, and rested back his head, closing his eyes.

Clumsily they worked together in the pitch darkness, freeing James from the rest of his clothes. They kept standing on each other’s feet, and when Andrew leant down to draw the covers back, he felt the tentative touch of James’s hand on his lower back.

He rose from the chair and laid the coat across the armrest, before sitting down on the edge of the bed to kick off his shoes. He let himself fall back against the sheets, caught a whiff of the lingering scents being wafted into the air, and slowly rolled over and dragged himself up only to collapse once more amongst the pillows. Burying his face into their soft, comforting depths, he breathed in what was left of James.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” James asked, but instead of answering he grabbed hold of the front of his coat, and shoved him down onto the grasses opposite.

Andrew felt the heat of shame beginning to burn in his blood, and pressed his face deeper into the pillow. He imagined kissing James again, and holding him, and touching him,and seeing the look on his face as he finally claimed him, how his expression would change once the pain eased and the pleasure took over; how his lips would hang open and trembling under the throes of pleasure, how his voice would be reduced to shuddering whimpers, and every now and again Andrew would hear his name. With a groan he came in his hand and returned to the room, and the lone sound of his own gasps for air.
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Eleven (Song-fic)
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: The big day.
Genre: Romance/angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment. Lyrics from the song "Far Away" belong to Nickelback.

This time, this place

The men in red marched together, then apart, and the captain appeared beneath the stone archway. Guns positioned in a line, and he started pacing through. Silence but for the rapid fanning of the women’s fans, the breath held collectively within proud breasts. He reached the end, eyes falling upon the sword which the governor held out, and he took the handle, drawing with a relish under the glorious sun.

Misused, mistakes

Theodore smiled, and so did he.

Too long, Too late

He looked over at Elizabeth Swann, standing heads and shoulders above the crowd. She looked pained, and he could sympathise in his own ways.

~+~

Who was I to make you wait

Pride and honour, held within his grasp. Weatherby was smiling, and he glanced at the lieutenants, mostly donning solemn expressions, some of envy, till he spotted Lieutenant Groves, Lieutenant Gillette, Lieutenant Willis, and even Lieutenant Norton. Their chests were puffed, backs erect, chins high, already seeing the day they themselves would stand in his place. His gaze softened as he saw that kind curl to a corner of the mouth, met that selfless grace in brown, shining eyes.

Just one chance

He swung his sword, the sky a brilliant blue, the clearest day he had ever known.

Just one breath

The glare of the blade branded spots of lingering colour in his eyes, and he smiled to himself. With a title, came the honour, and with the honour, came his duty. He would never forget his place, his country, his pride, his men.

Just in case there's just one left

Weatherby’s smile made him think of his father. Elizabeth looked pained, fanning herself and watching the sky; she reminded him of how his mother had looked when he told her that he belonged in the King’s Navy. Without them, his support had been given from those kind enough to take interest in his struggles and hard-earned respect, and through the years he had met with a number of noble men.

'Cause you know

But there was only one,

You know, you know

Who gave that much more.

You know

That I love you

“May I have a moment?”

~+~

I have loved you all along

Andrew turned his head and watched the two figures beneath the archway, their outlines perfectly complimentary against the brightness of the sky.

And I miss you

He watched as they strode out together, and turned back to smile in time at the touch of Felicity’s hand on his arm, coupled with the playful jest in Theodore’s eyes.

Been far away for far too long

It was a wonderful day, and it would have been perfect, had the violins not returned.

I keep dreaming you'll be with me

His friend gestured to a group of flamboyant men, dressed to impress. They were passing telling eye contact with two young women, dressed in pale blue silks, of differing gradients. The blonde one lowered her eyes, and one of the wigged men chuckled. She looked up again, and met Andrew’s gaze; he smiled, wondering if out of the thousand things to be read in the subtle lift of the lip, whether she could read his.

You have a beautiful smile.

And you'll never go

Was it time? Would he dither now, and trip over his words, ruining his composure? Would she smile, and look less pained?

Stop breathing if

Don't be nervous,

I don't see you anymore

And try to smile. You are so beautiful when you smile.

~+~

On my knees, I'll ask

“I apologise if I seem forward, but I-”

Last chance for one last dance

“-must speak my mind.”

Amongst the tangle in his head, his memory caught the strain in the breeze, and he watched the vast stretch of sea before them. He remembered getting frustrated as a boy, for not being able to play the violin well. I have a cousin named Constance, although we have never actually met…On my mother’s side, I believe. He heard the flapping of Elizabeth’s fan, and felt his palms sweating at the sound of impatience.

'Cause with you, I'd withstand

Was Constance here? What was she like? 

All of hell to hold your hand

Could she hold him, like he did?

I'd give it all

Could she ever see him, the way he did.

I'd give for us

But perhaps she could give Andrew what he could not. There was much expectation in a name, he above most, could understand that. …don’t ruin your hopes for the likes of me.

Give anything but I won't give up

It could be done.

'Cause you know

Marriage was safe.

You know, you know

And he wanted nothing more.

You know

So far away

Up until that one moment, he had forgotten his selfishness towards Elizabeth. His heart missed a beat as he lost sight of her, and panic seized his entire person as he flung against the stone, and shouted her name. Forgive my inattentiveness-

Been far away for far too long

He had to save her, had to plunge into the depths and save her from drowning, so he could apologise for being such a wretch.

So far away

A hand touched his arm, and he whipped his head around.

“The rocks, sir, it’s a miracle she missed them-”

Been far away for far too long

The touch sparked only too much he had to cast aside for the moment’s sake; another’s life was in their hands. They had to hurry, and Andrew nodded, reading his mind. 

But you know, you know, you know

~+~

I wanted

Feet clattered and clamoured in a downwards direction, down, down, and straight to the damsel in distress. He could not sleep the night before, and was half afraid it would show during the ceremony; if you could trust Theodore with anything, it would have to be the man’s perfect vigilance to even the smallest details. He would ask about the darkness beneath his eyes, and Andrew would give him all the money in his purse, if he had guessed correctly. He remembered the peace, the way night had been amazingly lenient with them, blessing the hours so they crept on wonderfully slow, and he had watched James sleeping until new light finally came.

I wanted you to stay

“Good morning-” he held back the last words in his breast, and only smiled at the best replacement, “Commodore.”

'Cause I needed

“You look happy this morning.”

I need to hear you say

“I am. Are you ready to face the day?”

That I love you

“I am somewhat nervous…”

I have loved you all along

“Of course you would be.”

And I forgive you

“And you'll be there, standing with the rest.”

For being away for far too long

“It’ll be fine.”

So keep breathing

“Did I tell you much about the sword?"

'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore

“No, tell me?”

Believe it

“They had it especially made for the occasion. Can you guess by whom?”

Hold on to me and never let me go

“The Turner boy?”

Keep breathing

“He is a hidden talent.”

'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore

“Are you jealous of the boy?” he chuckled, propping up on an arm and watching down at James’s dishevelled state. Those dark brows peaked in mild surprise.

Believe it

“Should I be?”

Hold on to me and never let me go

“You and your confounding questions!” Andrew laughed, and grabbed at the other man, heard and felt the warm, low rumble of mirth, marvelling at the way James held him tight, and strong, as though it were truly possible to freeze time and forget the rest of the world plodding along outside.

Keep breathing

They stared into each other’s eyes, smiles fading as they saw last night playing behind one another’s gaze. Andrew felt James’s heart beneath his hand, wondered if he could be the sharing type.

“I…bedded a whore, the first night you came.”

“It’s alright, Andrew…”

“Did you already know?”

“No…but I don’t blame you,” he felt the touch of fingers against his cheek, and smiled again, “….why do you keep smiling so…?”

Hold on to me and never let me go

“So you can, too.”

~+~

Keep breathing

They barely caught their breaths as they reached her, and the commodore held his sword poised and ready.

“On your feet.”

Andrew watched Elizabeth and the pirate steadily past James’s shoulder, waiting for his word, heard the men’s excited breaths beside them, around them, each one ready for action. I’ve got you, it’ll be alright. I’ve got you.

Hold on to me and never let me go

With a title, comes the honour, and with the honour, comes the duty. He could see it now, in the steady gaze of their commanding officer, could hear it in his voice, calm, and just. Like the rest of them, he stood behind, supportive, and prepared. I’ve got you.
 
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Ten
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: Until dawn, you belong to me.
Genre: Angst/Sex
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.

A great pounding came upon his door; he could hear it even whilst his face remained buried beneath the haphazard layers of bedsheets. Tugging them slowly from his head he listened in silence for a moment, attempting to gather his wits and compile up a list of people who could possibly be seeking him at this hour of the evening. When the knocking continued he rubbed a hand over his face, and sighed at the lingering salty dampness before dragging himself reluctantly out of bed and towards the stairs.

~+~

James leant heavily against the door for support. His head throbbed, and he pressed his brow against the wood. Closing his eyes, he felt his thoughts beginning to whirl as a dizziness crept up on his conscience. One thing remained clear to him, however. No matter how long it would take, he wouldn't be going anywhere until the door opened. Without a warning it suddenly gave way, and he stumbled forwards into arms which only just managed to catch him.

~+~

Cussing to himself in surprise, he quickly dragged James inside and closed the door. As much as he'd felt like doing, he couldn’t leave the man outside for all the world to see, and most likely mug.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed as James leant heavily against him.
 
"I'm sorry," he began to utter, and raised his head slowly so that he could see his moist green eyes, and the thin, weak smile. "Please accept...my apology." Andrew felt the sternness of his own gaze giving way at the pitiful sight, and he sighed inwardly, knowing himself too easily forgiving when his own heart yearned for the very same drunken wretch hanging onto him.

“Fool,” he snapped as he tucked his arm under the other's to prop him against himself before starting to lead them down the hallway. "Is that all you came here for?"

“Had to see you.”

"I didn't hear a coach..."

"Walked."

"That's absurd, you could've been attacked. It's a miracle I'm not having to fish you out of the gutter."

"Stop," murmured James as he suddenly pushed Andrew against the wall of the hallway. He grabbed James's upper arms to steady and to keep him from pressing too close.

"What is it?" he asked, grimacing when he caught the whiff of spirits from his breath blowing against his cheek. James mumbled something against his neck, and he felt the clasp of his hands against his sides. Heat from his palms burned straight through the linen. "I can't understand you," he started saying, but James had his face close and tilted slightly, his eyes on Andrew's lips.

"I..." he murmured, trailing off with his lips still parted, and unable to stop himself Andrew pulled James in by the arms just enough to close that small gap between them. He sighed deeply into the kiss as James responded by pressing closer.

~+~

Together they struggled on the floor of the hallway having failed to go any further in their sudden burst of urgency. Without thinking they tore impatiently at one another's clothes, fighting for dominance with scrabbling hands and fierce kisses which tested the sharper edges of their teeth. Just as one believed he had attained the upperhand, the other would somehow manage to overpower him, and so they kept testing one another's strength, grunting with their effort as now and again their forceful movements brought them colliding against the walls of the hallway. Finally Andrew had James pinned beneath him, laying on his back and labouring for his breath as he looked up dazedly at the victor.

"You lose," Andrew panted with a lopsided smile, when he felt James slip a hand beneath the edge of his shirt. Releasing a weighty sigh he slowly straightened his back as he sat, licking away the dryness from his lips and watching the excited glint in James's eyes. Long and skillful fingers manipulated his flesh, played him straight into his hands so that, too busy groaning and riding the rough pleasure of his grip, he didn't realise James's intent to overthrow him once more, so that when he felt himself being flipped, this time he couldn't quite retaliate quick enough.

"You lose," James echoed him breathlessly, and Andrew could feel the stiff protrusion of his manhood digging into him through his breeches. 

"You win," Andrew replied, giving in and resting back against the cold floor with a restless sigh. "So make your claim." He saw the way James's eyes lowered and surveyed the length of his body, and felt a corner of his mouth twitch upwards lewdly. James fumbled to free himself from his confines and Andrew helped him eagerly, their fingers scrabbling over one another's as they pulled impatiently at the buttons. Whipping his hand back Andrew spat against his fingers and wrapped them greedily around James's flesh. Having pulled and rubbed the swollen rod hastily, he turned over onto his hands and knees, and felt James respond by grabbing him by the waist with his hands. At first he had trouble entering him, for he was so tense with anticipation that James could hardly push his head in before being overwhelmed by the steely grip of his body. Grunting, Andrew sucked briefly on his fingers before reaching back to stretch himself. James watched him for a few seconds before pulling his hand away and doing it himself; with a surprised gasp Andrew hung his head and whimpered as James thrust his fingers deep into him. Despite it being James's first time doing this, he managed to find that hidden place in Andrew's body almost effortlessly, and just as Andrew began to writhe more violently against his hand, James moved his hand away to grip his hip; feeling the second attempt coming, Andrew drew in his breath and arched his body invitingly. This time James managed to enter him, and with a series of sharp, forceful thrusts, finally succeeded in opening him up inch by straining inch, sometimes more when he failed to hold himself back. Moaning throatily under the quick penetration coming from James's frantically bucking hips, Andrew dug his hands into the ground in the attempt to steady himself to meet the other's harder thrusts. Each one seemed to shake him to the core, and wrenched another groan from the deeps of his heaving chest.

He couldn't see James as their bodies laboured together, but he felt the hot puffs of his breath against his shoulder where the linen had slipped, and bit his lip when James bit into his skin to stifle his own groans. Sweat started sticking the shirt to his skin, and Andrew wished they had waited until they were in his bed. James was still wearing his coat, and there was something thrillingly submissive about being taken while he was still in his uniform, but he still yearned to feel the sensation of James's naked and straining body against his, the slippery gliding of skin upon slick, sweating skin. He was so close now he was trembling.

"I love you," he said breathlessly, the words bursting out before he could control them as he moved to meet each of James's more frenzied thrusts. With a loud grunt James suddenly lurched forwards, and Andrew felt his legs quiver as the tension abruptly fell away. With the last of their efforts, he came undone to the sound of James's loud, strangled groan and then they collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping for breath. The pleasure washed over his very being then quickly ebbed and died. It was fleetingly beautiful. Andrew waited for James to say something as he laid there beneath him with his cheek pressed against the ground. After a long moment of nothing but the sound of lungs labouring in recovery, Andrew slowly rolled over onto his back and looked up into James's face. What he saw there sent a bolt of pain through his chest.

"What is it?" he murmured, trying not to sound concerned even though he couldn't fight down a look of disappointment. "Regret?"

James closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Christ almighty, why am I such a fool?" Andrew hissed through his teeth and James leant back to give him room as he hurried to get up. Standing with a grimace and a hand braced against the wall, he didn't want to turn around and face the fact that there was nothing there in his reaction that he wanted so much to see, no words to come that he so desperately wished to hear.

"You're not, love,” said James gently, also getting up.

 “Spare me James, don’t call me what you will come to call her.”

"Andrew-"

"I'm tired," he said brusquely as he turned around and brushed past James to reach the stairs. Without looking back he started climbing them, each limb stiff and not from fatigue nor pain, but rather an unpleasant tension that came from the heart. 

"Wait, Andrew," said James, and he turned his head to look back at him. Now there was a sadness in his eyes, growing ever more solemn as he grew sober. Andrew let out a small sigh, and swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he lowered his eyes and said quietly,

"Just come to bed, James."

~+~
 

“Andrew…?” the murmur was barely audible. “Where are you?”

“Beside you,” he reached with his hand but felt only the pillow. There was the rustling of sheets as James moved towards him. He stretched out his arm and felt his fingers graze the warmth of skin, then curl around the edge of a hip. He dragged himself across the tangle of cloth beneath them. At the touch of a hand upon his arm, he lowered his face and met the warmth of James’s breath against his cheek.

“I dreamt of you…”

“Tell me?” he whispered, seeking James’s face through the dark; his thumb brushed into the thin layer of sweat hanging upon his brow, and he heard the shaky exhale of a sigh.

“Oh god,” James’s voice dropped away to nothing, as he lowered his head and buried his face into his shoulder. Andrew closed his eyes at the touch and pressed his cheek to his hair.

“What is it?” he asked gently. Hands slid up to cling at his shoulders, and he wrapped his own arms tightly around the other. They embraced until Andrew forgot about the approach of morning, about the inevitable passage of time. James made barely a sound, and after a while Andrew thought he had fallen asleep, when he felt the trembling of his shoulders. They grew so much that he clasped the shaking form to himself, the instinct to protect interwoven with fear. He heard a sob, muffled and soft, felt the movement of James’s lips against his shoulder.

“Gods it was just, I-”

“It's alright, it was only a dream.”

James groaned in anguish, his hands clenching fitfully at his shoulders. Andrew released a broken sigh and stroked gently at the back of his head.

“It’s my fault-”

“Shh-”

“And because of me-”

“Hush now-”

“Oh god!”

“Come love, get a hold of yourself,” said Andrew as he tried his best to keep his voice steady. "I'm here, and everything will be alright. Nothing will happen, I promise."
 
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Nine
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: Some things are hard to phrase.
Genre: Angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.

“Good morning.”

The harsh morning light attempted to penetrate even the thickness of the drawn curtains, and in the gloom he could still manage to see with clarity each tousled strand of mousey brown hair, the pale, bare curve of a shoulder resting against his sheets. Then she smiled, and he recalled seeing her in a different place at a different time, collecting emptied tankards.

"Usually I say no when they ask me to stay, but I can make an exception for you," she said with a playful smile, and he lowered his eyes onto the long, slim fingers which began to trip up his chest.

"It's early, don't you have someplace to be?" he muttered, catching hold of her wrist.

"Yes, well," she said airily as she pulled away and shoved the sheets aside to climb out of bed. "No rest for the wicked indeed."

Andrew got hurriedly out of bed himself, and shook her garments off his as he snatched them off the floor. He felt the weight of his purse in the pocket of his breeches, and glanced up at her.

"Oh I've already taken what's mine, unless," she said, catching his eye and understanding his look, but then slowly smiling in a playfully suggestive manner. "There's anything else you're needing, sir?"

"Yes, actually there is," he said as he watched her nipping and tucking material back into all the right places. She barely seemed able to hold everything in at the same time. Impatiently he strode over and reached for the flimsy bits of string dangling at her back, but his offer to help was rejected by a light slap on the knuckles. He realised what she meant as she held out a hand at him, palm side up. Delving into the pocket of his breeches he fished out his purse and slipped it open to retrieve a few coins.

"Try to keep that cherry mouth sealed," he said as he dropped them into her clutching fingers. "We may laugh at Norton between us, but I'd rather that my name wasn't exchanged between the two of you, or any other officer for that matter..."

"As you wish," she said simply, before stealthily slipping the silver out of sight. With a deep sigh he rubbed a hand over his face and sat down at the edge of the bed. Having temporarily dismissed his servants after catching them behaving suspiciously, he now wondered whether it would be best to live alone for the convenience of these unseemly meetings. Whilst his neighbours in this part have always been relatively private sort of people, mostly busy keeping to themselves, they may yet eventually notice his lack of bodies going in and out of his door, and word may still somehow spread either way about his loose living. He watched the woman as she turned to the mirror hung upon his wall to fix her hair.

"You're going to be late yourself, sir," she said, catching his eye in the glass and smiling around the ribbon between her teeth. Andrew's eyes fell upon an angry red mark on the side of her neck which he hadn't noticed before. A memory came flashing back to him, and he could almost taste again the salty pale skin trapped between his teeth. With a small shake of his head, he quickly rose back to his feet and resumed dressing.

"It must be hard, being in the navy..."

"At times, but you get on with it."

"Must be incredibly lonesome, being away at sea for such long periods."

Andrew watched the mess that was his bed as he buttoned up his waistcoat.

"Sometimes," he said quietly, then looked at her with a grin. "But there's the jolly Crown to come home to."

"You wept last night, after we laid together," she said with a somewhat troubled expression.

He felt his eyebrows lofting with surprise.

"A nightmare perhaps," he uttered as he busied himself with his cravat. Now that he gave it some thought, he did recall the feeling of bitter anguish in his chest, made the worse no doubt by the amount he drank after James's departure. But weeping? In all honesty he only vaguely remembered what they were doing in bed; anything after he'd finally collapsed in exhaustion was a blank.

"Hmm," she said . "Well if you ever need a bosom to cry on again..."

"You never know."

"There's no reasoning with dreams," she sighed quietly to herself in the mirror, brushing a hair from her face and then turning her eyes on his reflection.

"No," he said, meeting her gaze in the glass. "I guess not."

~+~

“And what may I ask kept you this morning?”

"Have you heard about the captain?"

"Heard what about the captain?"

"He's to be promoted."

A look of surprise appeared on Andrew's face.

"He is?"

"Commodore Norrington."

"I see those fools in the admiralty have finally opened their eyes," said Andrew, smiling to himself. He was happy for James, and immensely proud of him.

“Word got around early this morning,” Theodore continued to say. "Willis is already making claims about being next in line."

"I'll eat my hat if he jumps before us."

"The man has a way with his obnoxious charms. I don't understand how he does it. I can just see him wheedling his way into a post too handsome for him."

"We'll have to keep an eye on him, then."

"Rightly so! There's no room for any more conniving upstarts around here."

"No, I keep getting elbowed when I'm walking beside you," Andrew drolly remarked.

"And it's not the same for me?" retorted Theodore. "Granted you're too busy hounding after womens' skirts these days, I'd say I might just beat you to it."

"I may hound after womens' skirts, but I don't break their hearts."

"That was uncalled for," said Theodore blandly.

"I don't apologise."

"Shall we have a wager?"

"On what this time?"

"The captain's marriage proposal."

Andrew brushed shoulders with a passing soldier and scowled at him irritably despite the man's touching of his hat and uttered apology.

"I don't care for that," he said stiffly, no longer smiling.

"Why ever not?"

"Only an idiot of a woman would refuse the hand of a commodore," said Andrew somewhat haughtily.

"I never quite understand why it is you hold such contempt for the girl."

"Because I've bedded far more respectable wenches in my lifetime, and know what I'm talking about when it comes to silly, petulant, indecisive females."

"Nothing wrong with that," chuckled Theodore. "They're a lot of fun if you ask me."

"I doubt the captain will find it so fun after a month or so into his marriage."

"What are we betting on?"

"The entire contents of my purse if you manage to seduce Elizabeth Swann before tomorrow."

"How about I give you my purse and more to see you try?"

"Like I said," scoffed Andrew. "I'd rather frolic with an honest whore than dally with her little games of courtship."

"But it'd be so satisfying outwitting a wit," said Theodore with a grin.

"There's more wit to be found in that towering wig of hair than in her brain."

"Should be easy, then, for someone with your wiles."

Andrew sighed inwardly as they came into the courtyard of the fort.

"Leave off the banter for now Theo, I have to see the captain."

"You plan to talk him out of it?"

"Of course not," snapped Andrew. "What's it to me if the man gets himself willingly coney-trapped."

"A lot, according to the way you've been prattling on for the duration of our walk," scoffed Theodore, leaving his side. "I'd just love to know what wrong the poor girl did you in her past life!"

~+~

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened.

“Commodore.”

“Please, do take a seat.”

He observed as Andrew lowered himself noisily into one of the chairs, and the way his hands moved at first to grip the ends of the armrests, then shifed instead to clasp at his knees. There was almost a jitteriness about him, James pondered, and it reminded him of the time when the two of them were alone in the quietude of his cabin. Now there was a sudden flurry of colour in Andrew's face, and he half feared the possibilty of the conversation taking an unprofessional turn.

“You look well this morning,” he said inanely after a moment of silence. Andrew opened his mouth and hesitated as if not sure what exactly to say in return.

"On the contrary I didn't have such an excellent start," he replied, then picked his eyes off the floor, his expression dark. "About the men-"

"Everything has been taken care of," James cut in smoothly, though it took effort to fight down the grimace.

"So soon," Andrew uttered, and James could understand from his tone and concerned expression that he was clearly disturbed, and he didn't blame him; he was still shocked and at war with himself beneath the calm exterior. And given their recent liasons it seemed only too unnervingly implicatory.

"As ever, the sooner over with, the easier order is kept," said James quietly.

"As experience has most proven in the past," replied Andrew as he eyed the painting hung on the wall behind James. The conversation paused, and the unmistakable sound of Mr Willis barking orders at some unfortunate victim entered the room through a jar in one of the office windows.

"How did the public take it?" Andrew asked.

"Surprisingly I heard not many were present during-" James paused, suddenly uncomfortable with the words to follow, so skipped them and carried on. "Which is probably for the best. As far as I'm told, the whole incident isn't something completely unheard of." As he said this, he saw Andrew meet him in the eye. "A handful of charges were in fact made in the past, based on minor suspicions of similar unrest."

"Perhaps it is not so uncommon as they believe," uttered Andrew as he slowly leant back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Though of course they can always trust that we may do our best to iron out anything abhorable by their standards." There was an attempted look of indifference in his expression as he gazed nonchalantly at what to James seemed to be something on his desk. James pressed his lips into a tight line, deciding they had just waded into dangerous waters. "Come to think of it," he added as an afterthought, though James somehow suspected this was what he had wanted to get off his chest from the outstart of the conversation. "It strikes one as being almost cathartic to precede a glorious ceremony with the purging of miscreants.” The almost obnoxiously self-assured grin didn't fool James, but nevertheless he gave a tight smile in return whilst clasing his hands together before him on the desk.

"Such matters aside," he said lightly, and Andrew continued playing the game by feigning relief at the change of topic and readjusting himself more comfortably in his chair.

"I'd meant to ask, actually, about the night before."

"Ah. You must excuse my arriving without notice-"

"By all means, where there's a matter of urgency-"

"Yes, well, it's quite taken care of now."

"Did it involve-"

"The case, yes, but it's no longer an issue."

"No, I guess not."

James couldn't help releasing an inward sigh over the impossibilty of conducting a rapport between them without acute awareness of one another's pretenses. He grasped wildly at any passing thought in his brain; they were knee-deep in their implication, if not completely submerged, and only a complete change of topic would momentarily halt that weak and sudden wave of nausea rising from his gut. He could almost taste the vile fear in the back of his throat.

"How is Constance?"

Andrew paused, and blinked. He appeared caught off guard for a second, but then tried to cover it over with another smile.

"Marvellous."

"That's good to hear."

"I have been asked to dinner by the mother."

"Ah."

"Perhaps you could advise me on how best to impress potential future inlaws."

"I would if I knew myself..."

"But surely you must have practiced the big speech for tomorrow?"

It was James's turn to pause, and blink.

"Of course, well...I have it written."

"Oh come, sir, what need is there to make blots upon a page what must come from the heart?"

James realised what Andrew meant.

"Ah, yes..."

"It's about time, considering how long we've been exposed to this lagging romance between our own good captain and the admirable Miss Swann."

James recalled the last biting comment Andrew had left him on the subject of Elizabeth, and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well, some things must be done," he said, perhaps a bit too lightly.

"I wish you all the best," said Andrew quietly with a smile.

James smiled back without saying anything and lowered his eyes onto the piece of parchment beneath his hands. It was in fact a speech he had prepared in case the governor required it of him for the ceremony. He had yet to receive full details. In fact, all he had been thinking about was Andrew when he ought to have been busy beating his brains with thoughts of finally securing those long-intended vows. Andrew was right, the whole thing had been lagging rather pathetically, and the more time he had to think things over whilst Elizabeth continued neither to show favour nor disfavour towards him, the less easy it became to see wedlock as the second most important thing to him in his life, the first, of course, being his duty as captain in the King's Navy. Now he had to come to terms with placing Andrew somewhere in his plans. Where exactly did he fit in them, if at all? The sound of Andrew rising from his chair stirred him out of his pensiveness, and he looked up to find the joviality, whether real or feigned quite gone.

"I ought to be getting back," he said. "Congratulations, sir. I must say I've waited long for this day myself."

James was touched, and he smiled, this time from the heart.

"Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate the support."

Yet despite the honesty of his words, Andrew apparently could not accept any comfort in them. Instead he stared out one of the windows as he donned his hat, wetting his lower lip and making as though he wanted to say something more, but then deciding against it.

"I wish you a pleasant evening with Constance," he said, but then wished he hadn't. Andrew merely smiled dashingly, then touched his hat.

"Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to leave.

Willis and Norton were already conversing loudly with other officers as Andrew entered The Crown. He did not want to know what they were discussing, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought of being spotted. Quickly he slipped past a rather dense cluster of sailors and sat himself down at the bar, choosing a seat which was most out of their line of sight. Some of the men stood nearby gave him glances from the corners of their eyes, but he ignored them and ordered a stiff drink. 

The one room was crowded and filled with the noise of men conversing, arguing, challenging one another, and Andrew wished he could swap places with one of them, maybe the one sat in the corner gambling over a game of cards, to be only concerned with immediate winnings instead of facing the feelings tossing and turning deep down inside of him. He looked back over his shoulder and noticed the officers were making their leave already. No haughtier than the next lot of men of rank, they nevertheless made sure to keep their professional distance between them, the gentlemen of the navy, and the rest of the brawling lot. After the first drink or two they would always abandon the place for somewhere a little more sophisticated. Or at least that was what they would claim, though Andrew knew better when it came to satisfying the thirst for beer, and then the hunger for flesh. Wearing a handsome uniform didn't make you less hungry than the next man, a fact that many of the officers proved many a time whilst Andrew had followed along with their own forms of merry-making.

“Not going with them, sir?”

Andrew turned his head back and saw the barmaid watching him knowingly.

"No, I prefer my own company tonight," he said with a smile, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is that so," she said, giving him a slow once-over as she cleaned the inside of a glass. "Might change your mind later, sir."

Andrew chuckled and leant his head against a hand.

"Your friend did."
 
"My friend?"

"The stockier one. Was too good to give away his name, but that didn't stop me finding out."

"You're too clever."

"Oh I am. Next time you see Norton tell him I send my love."

Andrew felt both his eyebrows lofting in surprise.

"Norton."

"Aye, sir."

She walked away as the barman returned, and moved over to the tables to collect glasses. Andrew watched as some of the men made loud and drunken advances, but she managed to fend the hulking brutes off with ease despite her slightness of figure. He pictured her servicing Norton in some dirty back alley behind the pub, wondering what she must have felt to be able to see into the uglier side of even the more respectable men. With that power of feminine seduction she would have each man stripped of rank and airs, exposed with all their shame. Maybe he ought to undergo such a sensation, allowing another to strip him bare and reveal the filth that covered his skin, his mind, his heart. With a sigh he stared into the bottom of his glass, and wondered how many more drinks it would take before he would be drunk enough to stumble into an alley with her, maybe even the same one she had used with Norton. God knows he would give anything to be like them tonight, where duty could be put temporarily aside for a bit of revelling, and no more would the thoughts be upon orders, responsibilities, the captain, the men waiting to be hanged. He tossed back his drink and tried to shut the memory of being in James's office out of his mind.

"Give me another," he said as she returned to the bar.

~+~

James strode briskly down the street, his shoes clacking noisily against the cobbles. He could never understand why Andrew didn't purchase a property further out, but he supposed some must have thought it rather fashionable to be living in the urban centre. After the long evening spent at the Swann household, he had gone home feeling restless and unable to sit. He felt as though he couldn't wait to speak to Andrew, and finally ordered a carriage to be sent for town. 

~+~

The hazy feeling in his head began to ebb, and he picked up the sound of knocking at the door. He'd already told the servants to retire and leave him be, and he was sat alone in the main room downstairs, nursing a headache in his hands. A voice whispered from the stairs, but he ignored it and got up to answer the door.

~+~

James caught the whiff of alcohol as it wafted out from inside the house. Andrew was stood there looking pale, his hair somewhat dishevelled in its ponytail. Drink had dimmed that familiar spark of warmth James often saw in those perceptive brown eyes, and leant Andrew a world-weary air.

“James?" he said with a confused frown.

“Andrew. May I come in?”

"Yes, of course,” said Andrew after hesitating for a moment. He stood back to let him through, and James stepped into the house. 

“Forgive me for intruding on you at this hour of night,” he said, eyes on the glow of candlelight coming from a room down the hallway.

"Not at all," said Andrew once he'd closed the door again and followed after him. "We can sit in the room ahead. Please forgive the mess."

James entered the main room and his eyes fell upon an empty bottle propped against the leg of a chair.

"Has something happened?" asked Andrew as he came in after him.

"Not exactly," said James as he moved towards another chair, his eyes now falling upon the wig Andrew had dropped onto the floor near the same chair with the bottle.

"Would you mind if I sat down?"

"Not at all, do sit," said Andrew, and James was about to lower himself into his chosen chair when a voice called out from the direction of the stairs.

"Drew?"

It was a hoarse kind of whisper, and it sounded slightly too intimate a tone to belong to any servant.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company," said James hesitantly, his eyes watching past Andrew's shoulders where he was standing in the room's doorway, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner.

"No, it's quite alright-" said Andrew, but James started to feel foolish.

"I," he began to say, meeting the other's gaze, but he couldn't hold it for long. "Rather think I should go, actually...it can wait," he finished, and looked about the room uncomfortably, as though searching for something. "It's not urgent."

"Are you sure?" asked Andrew uncertainly.

"Yes, I shall see you in the morning," James answered curtly with a nod before walking past Andrew out of the room.

"James, wait a-"

"I'll see myself out," he said as he walked briskly past the staircase down the hallway towards the main door. He would have looked up the flight of steps if Andrew wasn't following behind, and he listened for any sounds of a presence but found none. Whoever it was awaited Andrew upstairs, in the private chambers of his house. When he reached the door he couldn't open it quick enough.

"See you at the fort, then," said Andrew behind him, but James didn't turn around, afraid the other would be able to see his embarrassed and troubled expression.

"Yes, well, good evening to you," he turned his face to utter before letting himself out and closing the door behind him.

~+~

He saw Andrew again in his dreams, embracing an androgynous figure that whispered the shortened version of his name. James felt the very real stab of jealously, which quickly turned into horror as he saw a blurred image of Willis, followed by two soldiers, storming into the dark, small bedroom and pulling Andrew away from the figure which kept changing faces - for one second it would be a beautiful woman, for another, a handsome youth. Someone slipped the noose around Andrew's neck and they dragged him outside. James was left with the woman/boy in the bed, and when he came closer towards the weeping figure, she/he looked up from the hands they had pressed up to their face, and he realised with shock that he was looking at himself. Staring at the doppelganger was like staring into a ghostly mirror; glassy green eyes leaked tears that streaked a tense and ghastly face, and all of a sudden he was in his twin's place, sitting up in the bed. He heard the sound of pounding feet coming up the stairs, and the angry voices of a mob. His heart raced, and he jumped when something heavy fell against his back. Looking down at the sheets he saw a cord of rope, and when he turned around he realised it was Andrew, wearing the same noose they had put on him and used to drag him away. With a cry of surprise he caught him as he slumped forwards, and James saw his upturned face, the eyes open but staring into nothing, the lips agape and still, and cold to the touch. 

He woke up breathing heavily into the pillow. For a second he dared not raise his head from it in case he saw Andrew beside him. Reaching out hesitantly with a hand, he found only the haphazard mess of sheets, and slowly rolled over onto his side. Pressing a hand over his eyes, he swallowed and tried to catch his breath. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to rid himself of the sight of the rope laying vivid against the sheets.
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Seven
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: James is put on the spot as captain.
Genre: Angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment.

The news came like a sniper's shot from some unexpected distance. James had to summon up all his resolve to maintain a professional composure whilst lieutenant, Mr Willis, reported to him a most terrible act. With the original intent of expelling a recent outburst of gossip amongst the crew, Willis sought to get to the root of the stirring discontent and found the two men who had provoked their peers. As James listened to the full account, retold by the man in a most scornful and resentful tone, he couldn't stop the waves of nausea beginning from the pit of his stomach, and rising to the very back of his throat. Two seamen, it was confirmed by members of the crew who had been eye witnesses, were found guilty of commiting the most abhorred acts of indecency; the details of their offence made James uncomfortable, but he had to keep a passive front before the grave figure stood before him.

“Sir, it is an abomination,” Willis ejaculated, and James held up his hand. He understood the lieutenant had always been steadfast in his dealings, and yet his deftness often derived from a measure of almost ruthless rationale, which in turn was largely based on the man's infallible prejudices. In this respect James could be no different, but when it came to disciplining his men, his resolve to action often wavered with his weakness of compassion despite his life-long attempts to be firm.

“Please, Mr Willis, do sit down,” he said with a frown, gesturing to the chair before his desk, but the other remained standing. Indeed he appeared far too tightly strung to sit, and there was a hard resolve from the look in his eyes to the way he carried himself, one fist bunched tight against his side.

“To maintain order, sir, we shouldn't hesitate to execute the correct forms of punishment.”

“I agree with you, Mr Willis, but before I issue out any orders, I must be satisfied that the men are in fact guilty and not victims of the prejudice of gossip.”

"You may take my word for it, sir, the men are stubborn in their denial but I swear upon my eyes, and the eyes of the men themselves, that they are guilty of unspeakable sin, and we cannot abide their remaining amongst the crew."

The room fell silent as James said nothing, but leant forwards on the desk, raising a hand to his brow; he didn't want the impatient Willis to read the turmoil in his face.

“Sir, the men and I cannot endure such a shameful crime," said Willis, and James knew he had to give way to their demands; it was the only right thing to be done according to the rules.

“Then I grant you permission to carry out the necessary actions," he said at last, removing his hand and raising from the desk. 

"Yes, sir."

"Arrest the men quickly and with the least commotion as possible," he said gravely with his hands clasped behind his back. Unable to meet the other's gaze, he looked out of the window, not really taking notice of anything but the nervous beating of his heart. "We hardly need a scandal like this to break out amongst the citizens.”

~+~

“Ah, how peaceful it has been these past few days,” said the governor airily. They stopped their strolling to look down towards the ships in the bay, and the patrolling figures in red uniforms dotted here and there.

“Yes, rather.”

“Is there something on your mind?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but Weatherby carried on without him, resuming his walk. James followed after with a lagging step.

“No doubt a man such as yourself has grown accustomed to allowing nothing but duty take reign of his thoughts," he mused, and then looked back at James.

“And yet dwelling too much on things can quickly become burdensome,” said James quietly.

“Yes, quite,” uttered Weatherby in the attempt to hurry the conversation along, waving one hand delicately in the air as he continued. "I have my own burdens of the mind to contend with, as I'm sure you are well aware of...”

The governor stopped and turned around, hands clasped behind his back, his long grey wig stirring in the wind. James read the creased smile upon his face with a depressing ease; earlier he would have reacted differently to the suggestive mention of the governor's daughter. Perhaps he might have secretly rejoiced and restrained the burst of ecstatic joy into a tight little smile, as usual. But his heart had upped and gone for a walk, to where and for how long he hadn't a clue. No matter how he willed its return, he knew he could no longer pine so freely and blindly as he once did. And now, as a result of the meeting with Mr Willis, that empty hole where feeling used to sit was filled with the leaden weight of guilt. Such contemplation too, inevitably lead his train of thought onto another lieutenant, who no doubt would have been informed of the mens' arrest by now.  

"Perhaps you care to discuss what it is that is so troubling you," said Weatherby with a raised eyebrow.

"I do apologise," said James. "There has been some degree of unrest amongst my men as of late."
 
"Ah."

"I must see to it that everything continues to run smoothly at all times... Perhaps I need to learn to step back from matters of duty enough to conduct a decent conversation."

“Well I can't think of another as dedicated and dutiful. And you are right there, even the most driven of us need a break from his line of work. So what do you say, will you care to join us for dinner later this evening?”

“Governor,” James began to say, but was stopped again before he could protest.

“Really James, what is work without play? You must give yourself a moment to breathe,” he said, quirking one bushy eyebrow.

James blushed somewhat at the memory of older encounters, some with Elizabeth present and barely veiling her utter lack of interest. He could imagine the governor’s prattling at the table, filling up the silence which would otherwise befall them. And yet he would prefer any sort of nonsensical talk to the vicious voices in his head.

“It will be my pleasure.”

“Rightly so," exclaimed the governor with gusto, and James could tell the man had been confident about winning him round eventually. "Rightly so."

~+~

James watched solemnly out of his window, unable to return to work at his desk. Whilst he had an evening at the Swann household to see to, two of his men would have now been confronted by Willis and the soldiers. He had hid away from it all in his office, like a coward. How comfortable you are, a voice said bitterly, stood in the safe perimeters of your room, whilst unsuspecting men have their entire lives changed. How easily you give permission for anothers' death.

He sat down slowly into his chair, head lowering as he pinched the bridge of his nose. With a ragged sigh, he tried to will the oncoming headache away, but within minutes he had the heels of both palms dug into the hollows of his eyes as the pain throbbed intensely against the confines of his skull. From out of nowhere he recalled something of his childhood, of a time when he flew a kite with other children he could no longer remember in detail, or when he leapt daringly after a notorious scallywag into the river nearby their country house. He saw himself fumbling onto the couch in his cabin like a heedless young wretch, recalled how without thought he had given himself over to temptations of feeling, with what frightening willingness and ease he had responded to his friend's gaze and touch. He saw the sodden garments in the bath water, a grown man, bare and edging around the known worn parts in the floorboards of his stately home. He saw feet stepping onto the platform, saw them drop, and saw them kick, and his heart lurched as it grew impossible to discern one pair from another, his and Andrews, from those which belonged to men thought beneath them, and yet what did it matter whether they were or no? The end result would still be the same. Knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he straightened up presentably into a sit, wiping the dampness hurriedly from his eyes.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and he felt sick to the stomach at the sight of his friend. Andrew's eyes were wide and alert, filled with a mixture of anger and fear. James clasped his hands together on the desk in the attempt to calm his nerve. 

“Sir-"

“Mr Gillette.”

“The men-”

"So you have heard from Willis," replied James calmly.

"Yes I have, but surely I heard wrongly about your decision in this-"

"It is most unfortunate, but I am settled on my word."

"By your word men will hang," said Andrew in a low voice as he began stepping towards the desk. "How could you give permission-"

"How could I not?" snapped James, dropping his hand. "The men want to see them punished, what would they think if I refused?" 

“I would make sure that all the evidence-"

"Mr Willis gave me his word, and he assured me of witnesses who would be ready to testify."

Andrew looked pale, and James swallowed the tightness in his throat. He sat down in one of the chairs. For a long time nobody spoke.

"If it had been me,” he began to say slowly, and James shut his eyes.

"Enough."

“If it had been me they wanted dead," hissed Andrew, rising suddenly to lean across the desk. "Would you have consented? Has that duty-bound brain of yours forgotten-”

"What?" James cut him off angrily as he stood, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. "Forgotten what, Mr Gillette?"

"Is that your answer?"

“Get out,” he said lowly, but Andrew grabbed the front of his uniform.

“Answer me!”

His hand lashed out before he could stop it.

Andrew stared at him, stunned. 

Without a word he turned abruptly and left the office, slamming the door behind him. James sat back down in his chair and pressed his hands over his face.
 

James slowly creaked open his eyes to the glare of moonlight flooding the room. He heard the sound of shallow breathing, and felt the subtle rising and falling of Andrew's chest beneath him. Slowly raising his head, a damp tress of the other's auburn hair peeled away from his cheek, and fell back against Andrew's neck. James watched him for a moment, taking in his slightly parted lips and the relaxed expression on his face as he slept. With an inward sigh he pressed up slowly on his arms, and grimaced when he felt those chill spots connecting his skin with the other's; there was no denying that they had made a mess, and he had to do something about it. Pulling up his breeches and rolling to the side, he was about to climb off the bed when he noticed out of the corner of his eye the goosepimples in Andrew's arm. Without his warmth, he turned slowly onto his side but didn't wake up. James sat there as the old mixture of anxiety and fear pooled slowly back into his stomach. Yet even as the feeling returned, it couldn't entirely evict the residues of content; a satisfaction he only ever rarely allowed himself to accept. To his own surprise he found that he wanted to lay back down beside him, to listen for longer the most private sound of his slumbering breaths. 

He whispered the other's name and shook his arm carefully, but Andrew didn't wake. With a heavy sigh, James rolled him properly onto his back and finished undressing him; with or without his help, he had to sort this out before Maria or the other maids came across their marked uniforms. He loathed being so troubled by something which under normal circumstances would only be too trivial. As he unbuttoned the rest of Andrew's waistcoat, he felt disgusted at himself for hurling so thoughtlessly into the fire; now he had to wash them free of the stains of sin somehow, and without attracting the attention of the servants. 
 

~+~

Having locked Andrew in his room, he managed to make it stealthily across the landing, obscured by the darkness thrown across the corridor by the drawn curtains. Once he reached the bathroom he closed the door carefully, locked it, and then went over to drop the bundle of Andrew's clothes into the tub at the centre of the room before looking for a container to fill it up. Crossing the dead fireplace he found the huge porcelain jug the maids often used, tucked beneath the sink unit in the corner, and quickly lifted it under the taps; usually the pipes would make a loud groan, but luckily this time they only released the one short, high-pitched squeak. As he waited for the jug to fill, James itched furiously at his head and realised he was still wearing his wig. It would have been easier to leave the tap running as he poured the water slowly into the tub, but he didn't want to add to the noise. Altogether it took several trips back and forth with the jug before there was a shallow fill of water, but James seized the soap with one hand and Andrew's breeches in the other. He had to do this quickly before anyone noticed him there. Pummelling the material, he vented his frustrations into the task, irritated at himself for having so carelessly allowed something as trivial as the issue of laundry to become dangerous, incriminating evidence. Tossing aside the sodden lump, he quickly straightened up and stripped himself of his waistcoat then shirt, perhaps casting things off when he didn't truly need to in the heat of panic. Having pushed the rest into the water, he took off his own breeches, that garment which which filled him most with shame as he scored it with the oily bar. The chill in the air almost made him sneeze, but he held it back, wiping his nose with the back of a dripping hand. From the corners of his eyes the buttons on his waistcoat glinted through the rippling water, bouncing off the light of the moon, fainter here, but enough still to cast its eerie hues into the corners of this small room.

"Fool," he hissed under his breath at himself as he gripped the uniform tight within his hands. The more violently he wrung at the material the more he imagined the feeling of rope, rough and worn clenching around his skin. He thought about Andrew asleep in his room, locked in, safe. Suddenly he felt sick at the prospect of being discovered. That peaceful breath would be strangled out of him forever. Nausea jolted his stomach and he hung his head to catch the breath which had suddenly been knocked from him. For a horrifying second James felt utterly helpless, striken with guilt he could no more restrain with the old steely grip of reason. Biting back an irrational whimper, he shook his head violently and carried on wringing the garments as quickly as he could.
 

~+~

With everything bundled together in a chaotic lump within his arms, James hurried back to the bedroom, painfully aware of the heavy dripping from the sleeves of their shirts. Water droplets fell, hit and sank through his stockings as he walked briskly down the hallway, eyes always on the staircase. Stopping before the door, he fumbled for his key in his breeches pocket, heart stopping for a second as he feared he'd left it back in the tub, but there it was, in the other pocket. His hand shook as he unlocked the door, but whether his jitters were caused by fear or the cold he couldn't be sure; he suspected it was a mixture of both. Finally he let himself into the room, and released a weighty sigh of relief once he'd closed the door behind him. 

“There you are.”

He almost jumped right out of his skin.

“For the love of god,” James hissed under his breath as he strode away from the door.

“Where," Andrew began to say, but James cut him off by tossing the wet bundle angrily at him.

"Help me with the fire."

~+~

Andrew leant with his arm against one side of the mantle piece, itching the back of his ankle with his other foot. James was stood at the other end, gripping the edge with white knuckles as he stared into the fire. Their waistcoats and breeches hung over the backs of some chairs they had collected together from different corners of the room. The shirts were sodden, but James had insisted they put them on anyway; an unconscious gesture of self-torment as his mood continued to drag its heels in that darkly brooding pace.

“Nobody saw?" asked Andrew after a while, voice quiet and cautious. James kept his eyes on the fire.

"No."

Despite the heat of the blaze James still trembled, as much as he hated it. Andrew sighed quietly, and then it was just the sound of the crackling fire again. For a long time nobody broke the silence again until James suddenly released a very loud sneeze.

“What hour is it?” Andrew asked.

“I can't be sure,” he murmured, raising a hand to his brow.

“You're tired," said Andrew gently, watching him from the corners of his eyes. "Get some rest.”

"I'm fine..."

Andrew crossed the fireplace and put his hand over James's, gripping tightly over the other's fist.

“You’re frozen," he whispered, and James looked at him, saw the light of the fire reflected in his familiar brown gaze.

"That's the last thing to worry about," he said, lowering his eyes.

"Not for me."

James felt a short, stabbing sensation from somewhere in his chest, and he lowered his head to press his brow against their hands.

"Please don't," he whispered, not entirely sure what he was protesting against. He spoke so quietly that the words were almost lost to the crackling flames, and he felt Andrew wrapping his other arm around his waist.

"What's done is done..." Andrew began to say softly, but James pulled away from him.

"You make it sound like murder," he snapped.

"You're the one busy ridding us of the evidence," Andrew retorted, but said nothing else when he saw James rubbing both hands into his face.

"Dear god, what's to become of us?"

"That's up to you," whispered Andrew.

"It's not just up to me," said James, dropping his hands and looking at him.

"I'll act as though I never walked in if it gets the devil off your back," said Andrew, his tone barely concealing his scorn at James's sudden change of mind. He couldn't help feeling disappointed at the other's show of regret, and he allowed his expression to fall passive and indifferent. "But you have to do something for me," he finished somewhat coolly. "Not that you really have a choice."

"How do you mean," asked James slowly, brow furrowing.

"You know what I mean," replied Andrew flippantly, though his expression betrayed nothing of his true emotions. "Do you really want to risk refusing me?"

James stared at him in silence. Andrew waited patiently for him to answer.

"Is that a threat...?" asked James eventually in a voice low and dangerous.

"I don't know," replied Andrew carefully, holding his gaze. "Is it?"

"You're a fool if you're even thinking of-"

"To get what I want, James, I'll threaten you all I like."

"What makes you think that they'll believe your word over mine?"

"One shouldn't assume."

They continued to glare at each other, but James started to look unsure, which in turn made Andrew begin to regret the threatening suggestion of revealing them, which in itself was really only poised for the sake of defending his own dignity; his pride was still sore where he suspected James was now wanting to cast him off like some common drab after the initial curiousity. He was worth more than that. Could James really believe that his friend would test him so if it weren't for some hurt caused by him?

"Give me what I want and I'll let it go," said Andrew quietly. "It's hardly a threat when I'm just asking for what you owe me..."

James opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again with a frown. He seemed to be deliberating over Andrew's offer for a moment, till with a sigh of resignation he averted his eyes in defeat.

"I only have myself to blame," he said, and Andrew felt his jaw tensing. Enough with this self-denouncing and regret, he wanted to say. All he truly wanted to do was to embrace the man and tell him he never thought he could ever get this close to him, and that he wanted it to go on, but not forever under the cloak of night like some dirty secret. "What is it that you want?"

 Andrew stepped close and leant in as though to kiss him.

"Kiss me," he whispered, taking James's hand and guiding it beneath the hem of his shirt. "Here."
 

~+~

Andrew felt his heart lurch as he saw James gag at the sudden overspill. Without being asked James swallowed, and Andrew gradually released his grip in his hair. James's face burned, and his chest heaved like Andrew's as he tried to recover his breath.

"It's done," he uttered, voice hoarse as he rose to his feet, wiping his mouth. "I owe you nothing."

His words were not bitter nor angry, and yet Andrew still felt them cut him nonetheless. Rising out of the chair he began to gather his clothes from the backs of the furniture.

"You never did," he said softly, and saw James's hand snatch away the garment he was reaching for. Looking up he met with an angry glare.

"Then why did you try to threaten me?" James asked, and Andrew didn't know if he was hurt; he liked to believe so. Grabbing the breeches he tugged them out of James's hand before moving on past him.

"You know it was half-hearted," he started saying when James stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"This isn't a game," said James lowly. "Don't play with me."

"Precisely," replied Andrew as he tugged his arm out of his grip. "I'm glad you agree."

He was surprised to see the stern expression on James's face falter as he came to some sort of realisation; it's a start at least, he thought.

"I meant nothing of what I said, James. I was angry. Forgive me."

"No, I...behaved terribly myself," said James, but he looked uneasy and unsure of what he was saying. Andrew reached out and gripped his arm.

"Not entirely," he said suggestively, and felt the tension inside ease a little when he recognised the embarrassed expression on the other's face; the man was still human after all. "You should get some rest," he finished, removing his hand.

"And you," said James. "I should show you to your room-"

"I'm sure I'll find one easily enough."

They stood watching one another for a moment, and Andrew's eyes fell upon the glow of the flames flickering against the pale skin of James's slender legs. With a quiet clearing of his throat James stirred himself from the spot and released a sigh.

"Yes, well..."

"I ought to go."

"Goodnight," said James, his gaze warm with a reflection of the fire, and for a moment Andrew wanted him again. Instead he smiled before his heart betrayed him.

"Goodnight, James," he replied, and turned to go.

"Be careful."

"I will," he said as he walked to the door and put his hand on the door knob. He chanced a look back over his shoulder and saw James warming his hands before the fire, his eyes on the dancing flames, a pensive look on his face. If he could be certain they still had enough time he would have asked to stay. He would stride back and take those hands in his own to press up against his face, and he would whisper how tonight one of his wildest dreams had been fulfiled. Who would have thought, he would say, with happiness in his eyes, and James would say "I know", and smile back. Yet, it was early days. James must have sensed his loitering, for he looked up from the fire, but before he could look over and catch him watching Andrew turned back to the door held open in his hand and slipped out.
 

 

“James,” he began to say, when he felt the quick clasp of Jame's hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” James whispered as he appeared to be listening out for sounds. Andrew moved his hand to slide his fingers over the ridge of James's knuckles, and felt one of those long fingers suddenly twitch beneath his touch. When he was happy that the close was clear, James slowly began to pull his hand away, but Andrew caught it and pressed his lips to the back of it. By the light of the moon he saw a small smile grace James’s lips, and he couldn't be sure if it was just a trick of the eye or if the man was really looking at him with the faintest air of mischief on his face. Shifting slowly on the bed, James laid down closer to Andrew, making him think of how lions often laid really low just before a calculated attack. How much of this was planned, he thought, or was James being swept along with the currents as much as he was?

“Can I trust you not to get us killed?” James hissed under his breath, half serious, half playful. Andrew nodded once, and both of them exhaled slow and silent sighs as James leant back to study what he had caught, and Andrew to deny his hardest that returning look of concern upon the other's face, that old crinkle in the brow.

"Dear god," James muttered as though he had just realised the level of risk in their actions. "Perhaps it is me who shall get us killed."  Andrew wondered at the fuss; it seemed to him that they had already fallen into the pits of hell since discovering each other as potential accomplices. But it was a bold step, showing Andrew his bedroom, bold and excitingly reckless, as though they were children again and following after each other eagerly into those locked rooms. He liked seeing James being playful and taking a risk, however measured. 

“You ought to act like this around Elizabeth,” Andrew said teasingly beneath his breath. “I daresay she’d find such tomfoolery rather fetching. I know I do.”

“I am only a deviant because of you,” came the droll response, and Andrew grinned.

“The sentiments are mutual.”

James could not help a low chuckle of his own, and his gaze visibly softened as his eyes slipped into a half-close.

“You can leave this room now without raising an ounce of suspicion. I've had numerous guests staying over in the past,” said James.

“But not in the same room."

"If we don't see sense in the next five minutes, you'll have to get up in the morning before the servants do and slip back to your room before they catch you. You should choose one that's not so near to mine...”

“I like the sound of a stealthy escape. What time do they get up?”

“Early, of course,” said James as he looked towards the door. His brow furrowed, and Andrew could see that he was no longer riding that utter, careless abandon he had initially expressed when tackling him. 

"Who knows," he whispered, releasing one of James's arms to splay his hand against his chest. "Fortune may favour the bold after all..."

James closed his eyes, and released a sigh before looking down at him through half-closed lids.

"Whatever we do next, I cannot agree to its leading anywhere, or serving as proof of some sort or other...do you understand?" he said softly beneath his breath.

Andrew thought about it for a moment, meeting the other's suddenly serious gaze.

"Proof of what?" he murmured, then lowered his eyes upon his own hand still braced against James's chest. "This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to..."

Without further words, he felt James leaning in and gently pressing his lips to his. It seemed that the act of kissing itself embodied the fullest of James's contradictions, though. Such a simple gesture could always reveal the same base urges as those which Andrew laid readily open to him.

They became entranced by the simple and clumsy locking of lips, nothing more than a cycle of gripping and releasing for a beat's worth of breath as hands explored all within their reach in a feverish fumble. Andrew enjoyed feeling James's fingers pulling free the pins in his hair, the sharp jerk when his wig came free. James let it drop somewhere out of the way, and the sensation of his fingertips weaving deep through his hair to grip his scalp sent a jitterish spark down the length of Andrew's spine. Taking hold of James's upper arms, he rolled them over slowly and was pulled down by a circling of arms at his waist.

"Have you ever done this before?" came James's breathless whisper, and Andrew dipped his chin to kiss below his ear. He heard James swallow and felt the subtle movement of his jaw beneath his lips as his mouth parted nervously.

"I can be sure you haven't," he murmured against James's ear, and was rewarded by a tight squeeze from the arms wound around his waist. Just when Andrew thought it was not possible to get any closer, he felt the unmistakable; James gasped and he knew the other had just come to a similar recognition. Andrew raised up on his arms enough to lean above James, watching the faint moonlight in his eyes as he wet his lip and placed a hand upon his chest. James's eyes lowered to watch as Andrew traced the row of buttons on his waistcoat with his fingers.

"Why do I feel overdressed?" he chuckled lowly, and felt James draw in a deep breath.

"Don't," he whispered, closing his eyes with a troubled look. His fingers coiled slowly around Andrew's wrist.

"Surely you don't mean to sleep in your uniform?" asked Andrew humourously, but James didn't smile.

"I do sometimes," came the quiet reply.

"That's when you're in your office," Andrew chided gently, dipping his head to catch James's mouth again. "You're not there now," he whispered as he pulled away, and slipped his hand under the edge of James's waistcoat before he could be stopped.

"Andrew," James gasped, turning his face aside, but it sounded to him less of a warning than an unconscious invitation; only a liar would consider that bucking motion of the hips as a "no".

“I...I don’t know,” James stammered breathlessly, and Andrew brushed his lips along the side of his face in the attempt to put him more at ease. "How it's meant to be done."

“Neither do I,” he lied softly, stealthily nudging James's legs apart by pressing his hips down into his. “But this is good,” he trailed off as he watched James's neck slowly arch backwards, delighting in the strain of his throat muscles, just made visible by the pale blue light as the man swallowed down what must have been his pride before he whispered hesitantly:

“Should I...suck your cock?"

Andrew could feel the nervous rising and falling of James's chest, and added to it further by rubbing his hips against him in long, slow strokes. He slipped his hand up to snare his fingers into the wig at the back of James's head, and parting his lips against his ear, traced the curve of its shell with the smallest point of his tongue. James shivered, and he whispered:

"Is that what she does in your dreams?"

Heavy breaths responded, and Andrew moved his hand down, slipping it between them to undo the buttons of James's breeches. This time no hand stopped him; instead, James closed his eyes and moistened his lower lip with the nervous flicker of his tongue. Perhaps he really was thinking of Elizabeth, thought Andrew, but that didn't matter. As far as he knew he could work that to his own advantage by method of teasing and coaxing James into opening up to him and letting go of his defenses.

“Do you see her when you close your eyes,” he murmured against James's ear whilst slipping his fingers past the freed flap of material to draw him out. "Does she touch you here," he continued as James's knees began to twitch against his sides. Slowly he slid backwards on the bed, the sheets rustling quietly beneath his movements. "Does she whisper your name James…James…”

James sighed his name shakily, and Andrew could feel the groping of his fingers upon his head, seeking for something to brace himself against. And he was right to do so, as Andrew gripped his balls against his palm and squeezed them with almost painful force without warning, letting slip some of his vengeful jealousy, perhaps, at the thought of James's thoughts being upon someone else.

Gasping in protest, James's back began to arch, and Andrew gripped at the band of his breeches, tugging them down; he wanted to remove them completely, but James stopped him again when the material bunched mid-way down his thighs. Sighing through his nose, Andrew adjusted himself to rest more comfortably on his arms before gripping both sides of James's twitching hips and proceeding to gain his first taste of the man's flesh. Fingers tightened spasmodically in his hair as Andrew laved at the head, teasing alternately with repeated strokes the small slit using just the tip of his tongue. He heard James starting to pant and opened his mouth to suck the head in, allowing it to rub against the wall of his cheek.

James, meanwhile, had creaked open his eyes to watch, and Andrew knew it was the same lust brimming in his sooty gaze, half obscured by the darkness of the bedroom, half revealed by the moonlight. In a miscalulated moment, James bucked his hips uncontrollably, and the show of impatience won him some pain as he scraped himself against the sharper edges of Andrew's teeth. He bit his lip to stifle any noise and gripped harder at his hair; Andrew felt his own heat trapped painfully against the sheets, but he decided it would be easier to get what he desired afterwards.

Quickly he fastened his mouth around the thick length of flesh and sucked as much of James into the very back of his throat as he could manage. A barely restrained moan tumbled forth from above. Holding the fevered man's gaze, Andrew worked his mouth harder, and faster, travelling up then down again, with the flat of his tongue mapped tight against the large throbbing vein. Now and again he would bare his teeth just enough for another graze, and when Andrew reached under to fondle his sack he could feel the tautness of his skin, as it drew up completely all of a sudden at the same time James's hips started to buck violently. He heard the rough grunt before he felt the gush of fluid hit the back of his throat. He imagined he could taste prolonged restraint in James's generous gift, and he saved just enough of a trace to enlighten the other on something he perhaps never knew about.

"Good god," he gasped after Andrew released him from a long, hard kiss. He looked pleasantly surprised, and Andrew felt one corner of his lips tugging upwards.

"Good god," Andrew echoed in a low chuckle, glancing downwards and James followed his eyes. "Aren't you finished, sir?" he raised an eyebrow at the other, and slipped his tongue out to swipe seductively at a damp corner of his lips.

"Lay down," said James, and Andrew complied under the grip around his upperarms, his fingers snagging into the uniform against the other's back as he felt himself being rolled over onto his back. Trapped beneath the taller man, he sighed heavily as he rode the little thrill he felt from James's initiative; so much for his plan to do what he would with James after he'd worn him out. The man wasn't even half spent, and rather seemed to want more. His fingers sought the front of Andrew's breeches where the fabric strained tight. As he pulled Andrew out from his confines he murmured in a voice low and slightly husky:

"Do you want my mouth on you?"

The offer was deliciously tempting, but he felt a tingling spark from the sight of James staring desirously down at him, of his glorious manhood below, still swollen and waiting. Andrew slowly tried to slide his knees up, and, lifting off the bed enough just to tug down his breeches so they matched James's, he swallowed the erratic pulse in his throat and spread his legs until the fabric caught restrictively. James moistened his lower lip and touched the tops of his bare thighs with his hands, causing Andrew to buck and shut his eyes with a ragged exhale.

"Just lay with me," he panted softly as his hands darted to grip James's hips. Arching his back, he ground himself up against him, and heard James snatch a breath sharply through his nose. He almost groaned out in full as he felt James begin to give way to his bodily instincts and start rocking against him feverishly. "Christ," Andrew gasped between swallowing and labouring for breath; the fact that James was so quickly catching on was making him light-headed. James explored for himself too, undoing the lower buttons of Andrew's waistcoat as they moved, and slipping a hand up his shirt. Andrew felt his own heart pounding beneath the other's palm, and opened his eyes in a dazed fashion to meet James's gaze, only to mind it equally clouded.

"You feel," James breathed, swallowing painfully as though something sharp had caught in his throat. "...so wonderful..."

I could show you wonderful, thought Andrew. Yet he didn't want to be too ambitious too soon. He had to remember where they were, what limits they could reach given the circumstances. What they were doing now couldn't have been too disruptive to the rest of the house, he thought, providing they weren't testing the full durability of the bed frame and making sounds like animals quite yet. He could hardly believe it; perhaps fortune only appeared to favour the bold before smiting them down next second.

"Oh god," he rasped, blocking out the voices of his mind, and grasping at James's pistoning buttocks. Bucking uncontrollably against one another, they grunted and gasped their way closer towards fulfilment, with James's hands tearing into the sheets at either side of Andrew's head. If Andrew closed his eyes whilst riding the rhythm of their bodies, he could easily imagine what it would be like to have James breach that remaining barrier; his entire body ached monstrously to take, or be taken, to have that all-consuming fire to burn even more painfully towards sweet completion. He wanted to go faster, but knew it wouldn't have been wise; regardless of speed, James seemed to be working his way quick enough towards coming, which he soon did, with a fist in Andrew's hair, and his head snapped backwards in a silent cry. Andrew emptied himself with a shudder and James slumped on top of him. As they heaved together he forgot about the dull ache of his scalp to concentrate on drawing as much air as possible into his burning lungs. They lay in an uncomfortable mess, their garments bunched at odd angles, and sweat saturating everything in contact with their skin. Andrew felt James shiver, and slowly wound his arms around him. Neither of them said anything; perhaps it wasn't the right time for words, but Andrew didn’t mind so much when the servants weren’t knocking at the door.
 

Title: The Adamant Snippet Four
Author: namu_chewy
Summary: What's in a name?
Genre: Romance/angst
Characters: James Norrington, Andrew Gillette
Pairings: Gillington
Rating: PG-13 
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, I only adapt them for entertainment. 

The sky had been an artist’s most ideal subject whilst they were yet still sailing, though that had changed by the time they reached Port Royal; a great flock of grey-black clouds had quickly begun to gather above them. Andrew squinted up at the sails, watching the white body of a gull as it dived between the billowing canvas, attracting the attention of its inland mates, and quite soon they were swooping and chasing together in a loose train. Despite the impending bleakness of the weather, the animals didn't seem to mind it so much as they carried on soaring and hovering with all the ease in the world. Footsteps approached him from behind, and he saw Theodore stepping up to join him.

"It's good to be back," he said as he watched the movements of the crew. Andrew folded his arms and leant upon the quarter rail, listening to the sound of laughter and mutterings below.

"It is," he replied after a moment, and felt his friend's hand upon his shoulder.

"Perhaps some of us would prefer to escape back to sea for another month or so," said Theo, watching him knowingly with a smile. Andrew chuckled and straightened up slowly as he grasped the quarter rail with his hands.

"Perhaps," he said, releasing a heavy sigh, and then turning his eyes back upon the noisy birds. "But fleeing never wins one anything I suppose."

"Depends on what it is you are fleeing from," Theo snorted. "I knew a man who did rather well to become a seaman straight after landing himself up to the breeches in debt." When he failed to gain a response, Theo leant down to rest his arms upon the rail, following Andrew's line of sight. 

"Who ever loves, if he do not propose the right true end of love, he's one that goes to sea for nothing but to make him sick," said Theo musically.

"Donne again."

"He speaks to me, though it was for your benefit that I recited that."

"Thank you Theo, I'm sure I shall benefit very much from Donne's wisdom," murmured Andrew.

"If you want my advice, you should just bed her first and see how the both of you feel afterwards," said Theo casually, reaching back to itch under his wig.

"Maybe I would if it were that easy," said Andrew glumly.

"Why?" asked Theo curiously. "Is she frigid?"

"Mostly," muttered Andrew, and his friend laughed, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and giving him a jovial shake.

"Andrew you old dog!" he said. "So you have finally been snared after all! Who is she?"

"Knowing you, I'd rather not say."

"Fine, but you know I'll just end up finding out myself."

"Well what about you," said Andrew, eager to shift the attention away from himself. "Who shall be graced by your charming company this time?"

"Oh you shall see for yourself tonight," said Theo with a grin.

"I'm not playing match-making again."

"You don't have to this time, dear Andrew. I think she rather likes me," sniffed Theo, smoothing his hands down the front of his uniform.

"Well if you don't need me, I'll be going straight home and into bed," muttered Andrew.

"Yes, and please wake up feeling less sorry for yourself," said Theo, raising an eyebrow at him. "I'd rather not be seen with the black cloud of the party."

"What party?"

"Don't tell me all this moping has given you water on the brain."

"Oh, yes," uttered Andrew as he recalled hearing news of the captain's plans of a sociable evening at his residence for friends from aristocratic families as well as all his respectable officers.

"Why don't you invite her?" said Theo.

"I don't think that would be a good idea..."

"She isn't really a whore...is she?"

"What do you think."

"I'd gathered that when you said the old girl is frigid. Doesn't really tally up with my experience."

"I'm sure."

"Is she of the aristocracy?" asked Theo, continuing to probe.

Andrew took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then released it again, saying,

"Who knows Theo, she might even be a special guest of J-, of the captain's."

"Now you're just teasing me," said Theo. "But if you're not just pulling my leg...does this mysterious lady of yours have any sisters?"

Their idle banter was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"I appreciate your loyalty to the ship, gentlemen, but I do believe it is time to go."

Theodore was the first to turn around, clasping his hands behind his back. Andrew mirrored him and stood beside his friend like a stiff and indifferent statue.

"Captain."

"Sir."

"I hope to see you later on this evening, gentlemen," said James, with a guarded smile. 

"Of course, sir," said Theo, returning the gesture. The captain's eyes turned onto Andrew.

"Mr Gillette, you look troubled." 

Andrew could feel Theo's eyes on him.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite myself, sir," he said.

"That's a shame," said James. "I do hope you will have recovered in time to attend this evening." 

After the captain had walked away, Theo said beneath his breath,

"Cousins? I could settle for distant relations, too."

"Perhaps," muttered Andrew, his eyes watching the back of James's retreating figure. "Perhaps."
 

~+~

Andrew stood on his own, leaning against the stone column, and peering down at the ships and the lapping of the waters in the bay. The scene was grey because of the weather, yet peaceful. He half wanted to stay with it rather than go pacing in rooms filled with mingling characters dressed in elaborate attire, carrying themselves with the airs of sophistication against a backdrop of sentimental violin music. He could see himself stood at a mantelpiece, watching the fire as those around him busied themselves with studying someone's graceful flick of the wrist, a delicate nod, or a tinkle of laughter in either genuine or mocking pitches. He could feign illness, he supposed, but part of him wanted still to see James, despite knowing that the sight of him with Elizabeth Swann would only worsen his mood. Perhaps he liked tormenting himself by stalking something he could not have, he snorted at the thought, and then wondered what Theo would've said to that.

"Probably recite me another passage from Donne," he scoffed, and then sighed, closing his eyes and raising a hand to his brow. "You, Andrew, are a fool."

~+~ 

"So what do you think?" asked Theo under his breath. Andrew lowered his wine glass and looked at the back of his friend's latest project. She was a young woman of small and slim stature, and when she walked she seemed to do so with a quick and mincing step. Whilst she turned her face to exchange pleasantries with the men and women stood nearby at the punchbowl, Andrew studied her side profile and found it reasonably pleasing.

"She's rather small," he murmured. "Like a fay."

"She's the fairy queen," said Theo.

"She has a curious beauty-"

"I'm a curious man."

"Not of the conventional sort-"

"But beautiful in her own way."
 
"There's no arguing with you is there?"

"Hush, here she comes," said Theo, and they both straightened up with twin smiles. The woman - who to Andrew seemed more like a young girl - had turned around with two fresh glasses in her hands, and was coming back towards them.

"She's smiling at us like cupid up to no good," muttered Andrew through his teeth.

"Stop smiling at her like a maniac."

"It's called feigned rivalry, just play along, women love being fought over."

"And then I'm supposed to do something incredibly overblown and potentially embarrassing in the attempt to prove my superiority over you as a suitor, am I?"

"Naturally."

"I think I'll take Donne's advice and be myself."

"Did Donne ever say that?" asked Andrew, when Theo elbowed him in the side, and he turned his face to smile charmingly at the young woman.

"Miss Fay," greeted Andrew.

"I must say Mr Gillette, you aren't very good at remembering names," she chuckled. Theo cleared his throat.

"What he means to say is that you remind us of the fairy queen," he said. 

"How charming," she said with a smile. "And you remind me of a couple of Spenserian knights, so intent on acting gallant that you'd rather parade around the company without subjecting yourselves to a word of conversation."

"My companion here was busy practising the rhetorics of love," said Andrew in a frank manner, and he saw Theo meeting the woman's curious glance. "My ears are still ringing with recitals of Donne."

"I do love a bit of Donne," she said, offering Theo one of her glasses. He passed the empty one in his hand to Andrew, and received hers with the most dashing smile. Andrew tried to keep a straight face as the two sipped their wines and exchanged meaningful looks. By the way she gave Theo a curious once-over of his person, Andrew could tell things would go smoothly this evening for his friend, and decided to politely excuse himself before he became the third wheel. Leaving the two for a refill at the rapidly diminishing contents of the punchbowl, Andrew looked over at the cluster of uniformed men stood before the open doors of the one, large balcony. James was in the middle, his face turned to a side as he spoke to Mr Willis, but he appeared to be distracted now by something, pausing mid-sentence. Andrew turned around, following his line of sight, and picked out the governor's generous wig from the other talking heads.

"It's governor Swann," said a woman beside him.

"Where's his daughter?" asked her companion.

"No doubt avoiding the captain. I've heard he's been most relentless."

"That's awful. I mean don't they know how awful it is to put such pressure on a lady's shoulders?"

"Mind you, though, I wouldn't mind some of that attention."

"Oh no, not if it's James Norrington. He's such a charming man. I bet under all that stoney facade he's a right man of passion."

The two women giggled to themselves behind their fans, and Andrew turned back to the bowl, making sure to fill his glass up properly.

~+~ 

"On your own, Mr Gillette?"

Andrew looked back over his shoulder to find James walking slowly towards him.

"You appear to have lost your train, sir," said Andrew with a smile.

"I ran out of things to say," James replied quietly, coming to rest his hands upon the top of the balcony. 
 
"That's not like you at all," said Andrew, and saw the other smiling just a little.

"Mr Groves said you were bringing a mysterious lady to join us tonight," he said, turning his head to watch him.

"Mr Groves is a gossip-monger," Andrew replied indifferently, and folded his arms upon the stone. James's hands were resting quite close, and the sight of them brought back memories he didn't really want surfacing just this minute. "She abandoned me last minute because of a cold."

"Ah, how disappointing..."

"Considering I've waited to see her for such a long time..."

"I see. And what is her name?"

"Constance," said Andrew, picking a name quickly. "Though in truth she has behaved most inconstantly towards me. You may know how that feels, sir."

"Indeed," replied James quietly, and he chanced a look at the man, found him observing the horizon before them with a thoughtful expression. "You have my empathy."

Andrew lowered his chin to watch his arms.

"As you will have that of every man for pursuing Miss Swann," he said, unable to help wanting to slight the other, if only to rouse some more feeling from him.

"People will always talk...it's what they do," muttered James, and Andrew released an inner sigh as he slowly straightened up with his hands on the rail.

"I have that truth drummed into me by courtesy of Mr Groves."

"Does he still quote passages from Donne?"

"So much so that I fear I may be learning them off by ear..."

"Are you not fond of the poet's works?"

"Perhaps my muse has grown too cynical to appreciate that sort of art."

"I see."

"My head hurts when things become too convoluted."

"Mine too," said James. "Only I've come to accept that most things have far too many sides to them, and that sometimes it might simply be too hard to fathom altogether."

"Nothing's ever too hard if one puts his heart into deciphering," said Andrew quietly. "But maybe you don't wish to because you'd rather not know."

James turned his head, but Andrew left the railing and hurried back into the room.
 

The clouds had shifted quickly across the sky, unveiling the moon which now cast its rays through the cabin’s windows, washing everything with a ghostly lustre. It was like a dream again, only he could really hear Andrew's breathing, and feel the solidity of his embrace. He had been holding on to Andrew like a child unwilling to leave, or awaken from this fantasised retreat, while another half of him, what he thought was the stronger half, wanted desperately to withdraw in the fear of discovery. Slowly he began to pull backwards, meeting Andrew's eyes as he raised his chin.

"What is it?" he whispered, and James wanted to tell him how his tentative attention was both touching and incredibly disconcerting.

“Thank you for coming," said James a little mechanically. "I appreciate it." Even if he couldn't quite manage a smile, Andrew at least could, and with something akin to great relief.

"I'll always come if you need me," said Andrew, and James could feel his mental shield lowering hesitantly at the touch of the other's hand upon the back of his neck. 

"I know," he whispered, finding himself beginning to incline towards Andrew's tilting face, when Andrew slipped his hand up to the back of his head and pulled him in. James closed his eyes and leaned into the enticing caress of Andrew's lips, his breath drawing up short as he felt his heart beginning to pound. Andrew pressed forwards bodily, and James stepped back against the desk, steadying himself with a hand against its edge whilst his other hand gripped at one of Andrew's upper arms. Though growing more persistent, Andrew first sought permission by stroking at his bottom lip gently with only the point of his tongue, but it was a gesture, however small, which made James uneasy. Under the coaxing he hesitantly parted his lips, and gasped as he felt Andrew's fingers curling and tightening into his hair. The damp slickness of Andrew's tongue slid past the edges of his teeth, and he sought to meet it with his own, flicking his tongue out carefully at first, and then quickly learning to twist it around to catch at the other's until it became a competition to see who could own who the longest. 

Andrew had the advantage with James pressed against the edge of the desk. As the kiss grew more feverish, James struggled for breath under Andrew's more forceful thrusts with his tongue, and eventually he had to push against the other's chest in order to break free enough to gasp for air. Breathing hard, James saw Andrew's half-closed eyes beginning to lower upon his body. Heat flooded his cheeks, burning up to his ears as he realised the extent of his body's betrayal. Embarrassed James turned away, but arms wound themselves slowly across his chest as Andrew leant into him from behind. He could feel the hot caress of Andrew's breath against the back of his ear, and swallowed against the tightness gripping his throat as one of his hands began to slide down the front of his waistcoat. His ears filled with the sound of his own palpitations, and he seized Andrew's hand before it could wander any further.

“Enough,” he said a little breathlessly as he turned to face him, but his half-hearted warning was underminded by the sound of his voice; desire laced his syllables, made it obvious that he wanted this even if it was possible to miss his flushed complexion, the increasing jitteriness of his limbs as Andrew stayed pressed close. The heat generated between them was intoxicating.

“Tell me what you want,” whispered Andrew, his chest heaving slowly as he bore into James with his heated gaze.

"You're making it worse," said James, swallowing and looking away.

"Is this so terrible?" asked Andrew, watching him closely. "You're not exactly running away..."

"What is it that you want? To lure me in to your game and then what..."

"It's not just a game."

"Then what is it?" said James, troubled.

"Much more," replied Andrew earnestly, but James drew away and walked on. He stopped at one of the windows and pressed his arm against its frame.

"Andrew, these meetings are harmful to us both," he said lowly under his breath. "There's too much at stake..."

"I know," said Andrew quietly, and James turned his head to frown at him over his shoulder.

"Then why are we still doing this...? Can you not be satisfied at port?"

"It's clear that what we both want is not to be had in a whorehouse-"

"This damed baseness will be the end of us," said James scornfully, closing his eyes. "Please leave...I want to be alone..."

There was a pause as both of them listened to the running sounds of the ship.

"You keep turning your back, but you always had a choice, and instead of saying outright that you want nothing to do with me you only go and change your mind last minute."

"We all make mistakes-"

"I thought the captain was meant to make the fewest-"

"Mr Gillette," said James icily as he turned around and narrowed his eyes at the other. "Don't let this delude you into thinking we're on equal footing. Because we're not. Nothing has changed, and don't you dare question my capability. I shall have you regret it instantly."

Andrew was standing to attention, but his eyes were on the floor.

"Go," said James as he turned his face back to the window, trying not to give away his instant regret in hurting his long time friend. He listened to Andrew's footsteps as they moved towards the door, to the quiet click when it opened to let the man through, followed by another as he closed it firmly behind him. James closed his eyes and pressed his brow to the cool glass.

He had to keep his men in line, he thought, yet Andrew couldn't quite fit anymore into the collective. As always the superior officer couldn't afford to be weak, even before his closest companions. All he could do right now was to keep a distance between them so that the normal rules and expectations could carry on. He feared losing sight of that respective line ruling himself apart from all the others beneath him, and just then, caught in that moment with Andrew, his mind had filled with dread at the thought of the lieutenant addressing him as “sir”, whilst his eyes undressed him with the privilege of a lover.  No, this he could not have.